


Fire And Fleet And Candlelight

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen, Magical Realism, Neverwhere inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 60,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: It's just a routine inquiry. But nothing is ever routine in Oxford Below. And what starts as a somewhat normal case soon turns into a struggle for one of their own. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman inspired AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to a good 2019, my pretties! Enjoy a very self-indulgent AU that I have been contemplating writing for a while. Hope you like it!

Thursday has had dealings with those from Below, of course. Every copper has.

Granted, it would help greatly if he could remember it before he met them again, but that’s not how things work, and he has long accepted that.

It’s a bloody nuisance, but he can hardly change a thing about it.

So when Superintendent Bright calls him into his office and tells him “IT’s them” with a certain tenseness in his voice and it comes rushing back, he nods and waits for details.

Half an hour later, he calls Morse, Jakes and Trewlove into his own office. Strange is busy with a routine enquiry but will be joining them once he’s done.

“Sir?” Morse asks, as always immediately knowing that something is… well, not wrong; Below is just a fact of life, albeit one most people don’t remember at any given day; but still…

“We have a case. The murder took place in Oxford Below.”

“Below?” Morse repeats, blinking, and Thursday watches as that brain of his quickly tells him what he needs to know. He shakes his head. “I never liked that” he mumbles.

Hardly anyone enjoys the sensation, but there’s no point in Thursday telling him.

Jakes and Trewlove have also learned what they already knew all over again at that point.

“But why would they ask us for help?” Jakes demands. “It’s Below. They have their own way of doing things.”

It’s an understatement, as Thursday well knows. But at the same time… “They usually have their reasons.”

Morse hums. “Who is our contact, sir?”

Sometimes Thursday forgets that Morse hasn’t always been his bagman. “The Marquis de Carabas.”

Morse’s eyes widen. “Like –“

“Yes. Like the fairy tale.”

People tend to snigger when they first hear the name he gave himself. Once they meet him, they stop.

Morse doesn’t laugh, leading Thursday to believe that he has his own experiences with those who dwell Below. But if he does, he doesn’t divulge the information.

 _Surprise_ , he thinks somewhat annoyed.

“Where are we meeting him?” Jakes asks, lighting a cigarette. Thursday understand only to well. Once the briefing’s over, he’s going to have a smoke too.

“We’re waiting for Strange.” Safety in numbers. Thursday now remembers his encounters with the Marquis all too well, and he’d rather have more people with him.

It probably wouldn’t make a difference, thinking of the Marquis, but still.

When Trewlove and Jakes leave, Morse stays behind. “Sir – Jakes has a point.”

“I know” he sighs. “But you know the rules. When they call…”

Morse nods and frowns. Figures that the lad doesn’t like that they have to jump whenever one of them asks for help. But that’s how things are, how they have always been.

* * *

 

Strange, as it turns out, has met the Marquis once or twice in his uniform days, and he immediately agrees to accompany them.

Thursday isn’t surprised that the Marquis wats to meet in Ombre Street. It’s one of the oldest in town, and due to the very nature of Oxford Below, its inhabitants tend to prefer places like it when they have to visit their home.

Morse keeps close by him, which relaxes Thursday somewhat. He’d rather not have the lad come too near to any of them.

“Sir – what if we –“ Strange begins, and he knows what he’s about to ask.

“Normally, they are rather friendly or at least polite when they need something, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Even the Marquis. He can even be bloody charming when he wants to. The problem is that normally, there lies something behind that smile, something he wants and is determined to have, no matter the cost.

Plus, there was this story with his brother. He’s never forgiven Thursday for being one of the people who know he has one, to begin with.

This whole thing just feels _off_ to him, and not just because he only remembered today that Below exists. That, he is used to.

“Ah, Inspector… or may I call you Fred?” A shadow that until a second ago looked like a piece of rubbish one has no interest in checking out unfolds itself and steps up to them. A brilliant smile, dark skin, a coat the colour of a dark street at midnight.

“Marquis” he greets him. He won’t answer his question. He never does.

“And these are your merry men, then.” His eyes wander over all of them, and Thursday tells jhimself he only imagines his gaze lingering on Morse. “I am the Marquis de Carabas” he says with another winning smile. “You may all call me exactly that.”

“Why the fairy tale figure?” Morse asks. Of course he does.

“Because, Constable Morse, we should all call ourselves after what we want to be, don’t we? Oh, UI am sorry… I meant we should all _endeavour_ to do that.”

Thursday swallows. As far as he knows, Morse hasn’t told anyone his first name; he only knows because he read it in his file.

“I see” is Morse’s even answer, and they can only watch as they seize each other up the way Thursday remembers from Mason Gull when no one knew who he was, yet.

He doesn’t like it one bit.

“The body, Marquis?”

His eyes slide back to Thursday. “Ah, yes. That’s why we called you. It might have happened Below, you know, but he was actually one of those who only live half-way – between There and Here. Poor Iliaster. He should have chosen a side long ago.”

“Iliaster?” Strange asks.

“Yes. We all have easily identifiable names. Wouldn’t you say so, Endeavour?” He looks at Morse again but this time, he thankfully doesn’t rise to the challenge, and Thursday breathes a sigh of relief.

“Would you please lead us to the body, sir?”

This time it’s Jakes who speaks, calmly and confidently, but Thursday can feel he, too, has noticed the tension in the air.

“Very well. We might as well get this over with, don’t you think?”

If it were up to Thursday, they’d never have begun in the first place, but there is nothing he can do against what the people higher up want him to do.

“As you wish.” And with a dramatic bow – that Thursday, to his chagrin, has to admit looks actually good when he does it – the Marquis leads them into the shadows.

* * *

 

It’s never pleasant, entering Below. Thursday has had to ion two occasions, and they were certainly… well, he can’t say unforgettable because of course they are not; he only remembers when he ought to; but by God, does he usually wish then that he hadn’t.

It’s just like walking down a street, only it really isn’t, because one second, you’re still in the world you know where everything makes sense, and the next… it doesn’t. Everything looks slightly wrong, everything turns just enough of a different shade of colour to make you wonder whether your eyesight is going, and even the shadows lose their depth.

The others, even though Thursday’s rather sure they’ve never been There before, keep calm. Strange almost trips once, but that’s it. Trewlove is as professional as always, Jakes lights a cigarette only to throw it on the floor with a disgusted expression in the next moment (Thursday should have warned him that things tend to taste slightly off here, too) and Morse simply keeps walking, his watchful eyes now darting this way, now that, as if Below is another puzzle he wants, no, needs to solve.

The Marquis isn’t forthcoming with the information, and so they stumble across Iliaster’s body quite suddenly. Thursday hears Morse’s slight intake of breath, and what’s worse, so does _he_.

“I do hope you have nothing against a bit of blood, Constable? We’re rather used to it here.”

“I am quite well, thank you” Morse says firmly.

Thursday knew that bringing Doctor DeBryn would be useless since even biology doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, here. And so the blood – even though it must have been ours at least since he died – is still fresh and the body looks as if he only just breathed his last.

“Stabbed” Jakes says to no one in particular.

“Right where he fell, I think” Trewlove supplies, “At least the pool of blood suggests it.”

“Where did they come from?” Strange asks, peering into the shadows.

“East” Morse answers matter-of-factly, causing them all to look at him. He points at a few marks on the ground that turn out to be footsteps upon closer inspection.

Trust Morse to find them. Or to make any bloody sense of the directions down here.

Thursday still doesn’t like how the Marquis is looking at him as he does so, however.

“I think” Morse says, still staying as far away from the body, but once more taken over by the desire to solve the crime, “That there was a fight. His clothing is mostly torn and dirty, but this doesn’t have to mean –“

“I assure you, this is how he usually looked” the Marquis explains, picking his fingernails, “But I do agree, there must have been a fight.”

“Why?” Thursday demands.

“Because, Inspector” he answers with a grin, “Iliaster was a coward. And cowards always fight for their lives. It’s the only thing they have.”

It’s the kind of thing the Marquis usually says, so Thursday would be inclined not to pay any attention, if Morse weren’t obviously intrigued. He’ll have to be careful.

“So… you say he was a coward. What else can you tell us about him?” he asks.

“Oh, he was one of those who live neither completely Below nor Above. He jumped around between the cracks, so to speak. Ran small errands for Below and begged in Above.”

“That’s where I know him from” Strange suddenly says. “Back in my PC days… he used to hang around main street.”

“Oh yes, when the rat speakers didn’t need him he had to get by through other means.”

“The rat speakers?” Morse questions.

“They talk to rats” Thursday says in the tone of voice that usually makes him stop asking. He’d rather not have any of them dive too deeply into the concerns of Below.

The Marquis grins again and once more during their already rather long and confusing acquaintance, Thursday wonders if he can actually read his mind.

“Well then” he drawls, “What do you propose we do?”

“I assume getting the body back to the morgue is out of the question.”

“Yes, it is. The rats will take care of it.”

This time, it’s Trewlove who can’t help but exclaim quietly.

“Oh, WPC Trewlove” he says with another gallant bow, “I assure you that this doesn’t mean what you immediately suspected. He will be given all the respect he deserves.”

It would be reassuring if the twinkle in his eyes wouldn’t make Thursday believe that there is very little respect to be had for Iliaster indeed.

Then again, he’s not sure they same can’t be said for Above.

“There is a Market tonight” he continues. “And you know what that means.”

“They violated the Market Truce?” Thursday asks.

“Yes.”

Before anyone can ask a question, Thursday says quickly, “In and around five miles of the Market no blood must be shed.”

The Marquis nods. “And blood has been shed. So now we need to catch the culprit and make an example of him, but if we leave this to those of Below…”

“There will be nothing left to make an example out of” Thursday finishes.

“Exactly, old friend.”

He ignores that last part and turns to the others. “Morse, you know where he came from… any chance you know where our guy went?”

Morse points in another direction.

“Alright, keep close together. It’s easy to get lost around here.”

“Oh I don’t know, it would probably be rather fun to watch you stumble around” the Marquis announces; then, with a flourish of his coat, he’s gone without a goodbye, as usual.

“But –“ Strange begins.

“He will return when we catch whoever did this” Thursday says tiredly. “He usually does.”

And then, they are on their way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Elsewhere**

“Why did he just disappear like that?” Strange asks again as they walk down the… well, Thursday supposes he should call it a _street_.

“I told you. That’s just how it is. How he is.”

“You have met him often before, sir?” Jakes pries.

Morse is silent. He normally knows when to stop – no, that’s a bloody lie; he’s never known when to stop; but at certain moments he realizes exactly how much Thursday wants to talk, or that he wants to be silent.

But because they are in Below, their curiosity is only too understandable. And so Thursday chooses his words carefully. There are things they must not know. Like that night where he learned about the Marquis’ brother, the night with the man with the Elephant head…

He thinks of the shepherds and shudders.

“Met him first not long after I came to Oxford” he finally says, the words drawn from somewhere deep within him he didn’t even knew existed. “Thought him just a bit strange, but then, everyone here is. I didn’t realize… Let’s just say he’s cleverer than he lets on, and also a bit malicious. That’s not to say I have never seen him do a good thing, mind. On the contrary. But he usually only does something nice when he gets something out of it himself. And even then, I’d look for the catch. But he can be quite kind when he suddenly puts his mind to it – only I wish that happened sooner. All in all, he is exactly who he wants to be, and no one who knows him would want him changed in any way, except that they might wish he doesn’t exist.”

“That sounds rather contradictory, sir” Morse remarks and Thursday winces, cursing his tongue.

“Sorry. It’s this place. Always struggle to keep my thoughts in order.”

He apparently accepts that explanation.

Suddenly Trewlove exclaims, “There’s a trail of blood here!”

“He might well have stabbed himself when he killed Iliaster” Morse says; and Thursday ponders that somewhat, this all seems to easy.

The Marquis doesn’t _do_ easy. The Marquis would never call someone from Above down here for something easy.

There has to be a catch. But what? It might be that the murderer is very dangerous; it might be that he is very mad.

It might be that he is both of that _and_ magical.

Thursday takes a deep breath, more determined than ever that no harm should befall anyone under his charge, and moves on.

Finally, they reach a light, open space; it almost looks like –

“A subway station?” Jakes asks, frowning. “But – “

“It might very well be that we have long passed the borders of Oxford Above” Thursday says tiredly. “You’ll get used to it.”

It’s a lie, but they have to keep sane somehow.

It’s Morse who first sees him crouching in the shadows. He draws close and whispers, “I think that’s him. The trail of blood leads there, and, well – if he has indeed broken this Truce, he would be desperate and not know where to turn, would he?”

Thursday nods. Once, back when he first met the Marquis, he learned what happens to those who break the Truce.

If only they died. It would be easier. But custom demands _They_ keep them alive, to be proof of what happens to those who break one of the few sacred riles of Below.

Thursday is almost tempted to do away with the poor bastard himself.

“Sir?” Morse asks.

He takes a deep breath. “Alright. Spread out; it will be better if we surprise him. Never underestimate Them; they always have a few tricks up their sleeves.”

Although the killer doesn’t look like it’s capable of much anymore.

Still, they gently sneak up on him.

Until he suddenly says, “What’s the point?” Then he looks up. A young face; he can’t be much older than Sam; and something in Fed’s chest constricts until he reminds himself that this doesn’t have to mean a thing. Some people seem to just stay young in Below.

After all, the Marquis has not aged a day since they met.

“You are Aboveners” he decides. “So they won’t even make their own hands dirty.” He then looks behind Fred’s shoulder, and starts frantically scrambling away. “Not you! Not you! You stay away.”

He turns his head to find Morse looking at him, completely aghast as to what could have prompted the reaction. He’s at a loss himself, but he’s sued to the feeling when dealing with those from Below. He shakes his head to tell him not to think about it.

Only to be jumped at by the killer a second later.

He’s desperate now, trying to get away, and Fred has to do his outmost just to stay on his feet.

“Sir!”

Morse manages to drag him off, but that only seems to make him more frantic; and he somehow throws them all off one by one.

It’s when they are already breathing heavily and Trewlove is just helping Strange back on his feet that it happens.

Morse tackles him as he once again rushes at Thursday, and it results with both of them rolling off the platform and onto the tracks.

“Morse!”

Fred’s blood runs cold as he runs to help him only to find the tracks empty.

Neither Morse nor the killer are to be seen.

“Ah yes. Well, the good news is that we won’t need your help any longer.”

He turns to see the Marquis, who’s lazily leaning against the wall.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I can promise that you will see him again. Shall I accompany you back home?”

**Oxford**

They are back in Above, and Morse isn’t with them. Thursday clenches his hands into fists and fights the temptation to ruin the Marquis’ perfect smile. “Where is he?” he growls.

“Who?” the Marquis asks and this time, he can’t hold himself back; a moment later he’s got him held up by his collar, pressed against the wall.

“Where. Is. Constable. Morse?” he repeats, vaguely aware that the others are trying to calm him down.

“That hurt” the Marquis says simply, and there is no fear or even worry in his eyes. Not even the slightest. “I told you you’d see him here, didn’t I?”

“I’m not seeing him anywhere!”

“Patience, Fred, old friend. Patience. But first, would you unhand me? It does put so many crinkles into my coat, you see, and I don’t like that.”

It’s easy to recognize this as the threat it is, and he steps away carefully.

“So” the marquis says, brushing non-existing dust off of his coat, “Are we ready to be sensible about this?”

“What have you done to him?” If anything happened to Morse, Fred is ready to bet the Marquis is behind it; like a snake, always ready to spring; that’s what he is, a snake –

“Calm down” the Marquis says, “You will get exactly what I promised you.”

Dread creeps across his heart. He promised nothing more and nothing less than that they would see Morse; what if he meant he wouldn’t be alive –

“Is he dead?” his question is almost a whisper, and he can hear someone, he thinks it’s Strange, gasping behind him.

“Now, now, don’t be so overdramatic” the Marquis answers, throwing his coat tails behind him with another flourish, “Why would you think that?”

“Well then, where is he?”

“Like I said” he replies with a clearly fake yawn, “You’ll see him, don’t worry. I wouldn’t even be hanging around you if I were not waiting for my escort.”

“Escort?”

“Yes, Below can be dangerous. Better to travel with someone else. Safety in numbers, you know.”

He’s never known the Marquis to care for company.

“And of course it’s always a good idea to show confidence in one’s police force.”

“Below doesn’t have a police force.”

“No, but we have the next best thing – which is to say, something very different; but what does that matter? Thing is, we have someone who has taken it upon himself to look into all those small instances that happen when you have many people jostling each other in the space of a few, or quite a lot, square miles; I forget which.”

This is a quote, Fred is sure of it; if Morse were here, he’d be able to –

“But why did you need us for, then?” Trewlove asks.

“Ah, isn’t that just the question, WPC” the Marquis says, only once more not to answer it and instead pose one of his own, “Have you ever wondered about time in Below?”

No, Fred hasn’t, for the simple reason that it tends to give him a headache. He once spent a few hours hunting down a lead and came back to a hysterical Win, certain he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere because he had somehow run around Below for three days. “No.”

“Well, you see, it’s not so boringly linear as yours. So I might have met my escort only today, but as a matter of fact, I have known him for years – I’d say – about ten of your time? And for the record, it took seven of those for Below to finally take him. A bit of a stubborn streak, you see.”

Nothing he’s saying is making any sort of sense, and Fred wants to punch him again. “Fascinating. Now where is –“

“Of course I made sure he was busy today – today in your standards. He was off to see the shepherds. Granted, a bit of a dangerous mission, but then, he’s always been resourceful.” The Marquis tilts his head to the side. “Although, if he shouldn’t appear within the hour, I must probably conclude that he’s been lost. More’s the pity. But well, there isn’t much you can do against the shepherds, is there, Fred?”

No, there isn’t, and he knows that he doesn’t want to be reminded of that, knows that just the thought of them makes his skin crawl.

Good God, the things he had to do to get out of that scrape.

He had to work with the Marquis and his brother, for one thing.

“That said, I would be a bit sorry for it. He’s a close friend.”

The Marquis doesn’t have any friends. He’s always been careful to keep to himself. And quite frankly, Fred wouldn’t wish the plague of being friends with him on anyone.

“Why does he keep talking about this guy?” Strange quietly asks Strange, who shrugs and reaches for a cigarette.

“Oh, allow me!” And the Marquis lights it for him so quickly that no one can say whether he actually got a lighter out of his coat or whether he used something else entirely, maybe nothing but his hand…

As he draws back, Jake’s fingers tremble slightly. Fred can’t blame him.

“I personally never smoke” he says pleasantly, sounding for all the world like they are indeed old friends. “Couldn’t bear the smell to hang around me, you know.”

 _More likely he couldn’t live with people being able to tell when he approaches them_ , Fred thinks, and all he gets for it is another knowing glance from the Marquis.

Those damn eyes, always looking, always prying.

Now he’s laughing again. “My, but he does take his time…” And as he stops laughing abruptly, Fred, to his astonishment, sees something like worry in his face for the first time. But it is gone so quickly he can’t be sure.

He draws a giant waist pocket watch out of one of the seemingly innumerable pockets of his coat and checks the time. “He still has a bit of – “

A voice interrupts him, a cheerful voice, a happy voice. “The Shepherd sends his greetings! Well, I think they were more like death threats, but you know how it is. He was probably a bit annoyed at the time because I broke his staff and scattered the pieces… Oh, hello! You must be the Aboveners he was talking about!”

And a young man steps out of the shadows, through a door that Fred has no troubles believing wasn’t there a moment ago and will be gone in an instant.

For a moment, he doesn’t understand, his mind struggling to comprehend what his eyes are telling him.

What gets through to him first are not the strange clothes the newcomer is wearing – many of those Below choose more bizarre garments to adore themselves with, and a leather jacket paired with dark loon pants and a white shirt of Victorian fashion is not that weird, all things considered – nor is it the smile, although normally it would disconcert him to see it in _this_ face when it so clearly belongs in the Marquis’.

No. What he realizes after a moment is that there is no recognition whatsoever in his eyes as he looks at them.

In Morse’s eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Before he can pronounce his name, the young constable he’s spent most of his waking hours with for almost two years now continues, “My name’s Endeavour.” Then he turns to the Marquis and says, “What have you done to them, you old scoundrel? They look spooked.”

Before even he can react, however, he’s turned back to Fred. “If you ever need something and don’t want to be in his debt, you can come to me.” He grins. “I am cheaper – and better, of course. But that’s no surprise; I am the best there is.”

“My dear Endeavour, I am sure they could hear you sing your own praises forever, but we have to think of the time.”

He rolls his eyes and skips up to the Marquis. “Fine. I know that tone of voice. You need something else to be done for you, you lazy bastard.”

“Precisely. Meet you at the Market in ten minutes?”

Another unsettling grin. “Ah, so much for wanting to be escorted. I knew what this was really about, of course, I –“

“Yes, you always do. The Market. Ten minutes.”

He shrugs carelessly. “As you wish. I have to do a bit bargaining of my own there, anyway.” He turns to them one last time to wave goodbye. “See you, Aboveners! Or not; you never know. Anyway, should you ever remember we exist, I’ll always be glad to be of service.”

He slips back into the shadows; a door that wasn’t there before opens; it closes behind him; and Morse is gone.

This time, he doesn’t hold himself back. A moment after his Constable has left, the marquis is lying on the ground, his cheek already starting to go even darker.

“What have you done to him?” Thursday demands, reaching down to grab his collar once more.

“Sir –“ Strange begins, but he won’t be deterred this time.

He shakes him. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?”

“No need to be so loud, Fred” The Marquis says, his eyes sparkling. “It wasn’t me; it was Below. Didn’t I tell you it took him? In seven years.”

“That’s impossible” Trewlove says. “It’s barely been an hour since he fell –“

“Time works differently Below. I could swear I told you that, too.”

“You – you bring him back this instant! And as he was, do you understand me?”

The Marquis looks at him then, and it’s enough to make him stop. For such a look he has never seen on the man’s face before; a look of triumph but mixed with something like regret and even pain; and Fred swallows.

“I can’t. Below took him. He slipped through the cracks. He’s one of us now.”

“He won’t stay –“

“You don’t understand, Fred” he says quietly, and for once, he sounds serious: no one could overhear the hint of sadness in his voice. “You won’t remember.”

And then, he is gone, without bidding them goodbye, and uncharacteristically without a dramatic gesture.

* * *

They arrive at the station half an hour later.

“I’ll tell Superintendent Bright we dealt with them” Fred says, knowing he has to act quickly, since the details are already slipping away.

Damn those below. It’s always a bloody hassle, and he can’t even remember what he did a second after he’s returned to the real Oxford, s he likes to call it.

“Sir?”

He stops and blinks when he realizes Constable Higgins is talking to him. His desk is next to Fred’s own office for some reason, but he’s never minded that.

No; there’s a feeling of _wrongness_ about being addressed by him right here, right now, and he can’t understand why.

It slips away as he concentrates on what Higgins has to say about the latest strings of burglaries.

**Elsewhere**

They call her Old Saxon. It’s not a name she chose for herself, making her an exception in Below; but it’s where she lives, or at least someplace like it, and she quite likes to be called that, so she never objects to it.

There’s something else special about her.

She remembers.

Oh, people, especially Aboveners, think remembering things is easy. That’s not true. Remembering things is difficult; memories get lost so easily –

And that’s dangerous. For one has to know where things and people come from to understand them. And understanding is the key to survival, both Above and Below.

For example, many, if asked, would say Endeavour has been around for a long time. And he has – somehow; but at the same time, he also only arrived today, and he wasn’t Endeavour then.

She remembers. She remembers the young man with the scared eyes and the determination to return home in his face.

She quite liked Morse. She likes Endeavour too, but there is respect and mistrust mixed into that. She can’t help it; once Below takes you, you stop being trustworthy. She doesn’t even trust herself, sometimes.

And so, it is with something like regret and something like pity that she watches Endeavour all but dance up to her. He’s always in a good mood, now; it’s unnatural, of course; and because of that, more natural than anything ever has been or will be. That’s Below for you.

“Old Saxon! How are you, my girl?”

There are those who think Endeavour bestows nicknames only on people he likes, yet she’s never been sure of that. But she’s reasonably certain that he does indeed still carry some affection for her, so she greets him politely.

“How is business?”

“Could be better.”

“You wait, I’m sure something will pop up. That’s what happens to me, at least. Guess what. The Marquis needs me. That’s the second time today – oh, this time it’s going to cost him a big favour!”

He starts humming as she reflects that its probably a good thing he doesn’t know that the Marquis would do anything if he asked him, that no favours have to be involved.

For the Marquis knows what he did. He is one of three who do.

She is another one.

And the last…

“Ah, Peregrine” Endeavour says.

She notes the lack of a nickname.

“Endeavour. I hear you went among the shepherds? They are quite upset about the staff.”

He stops humming. “Are they? I hoped they would see sense.”

She perks up at that. Is there still something of the sense of good and bad in his breast?

“I mean, who carries a staff? It looks so old-fashioned.”

Maybe not.

It surprised her at first, how much she cared. She thought those days lay behind her. Turned out they don’t.

In a way, she likes it. Caring makes things more interesting.

It also carries a certain penalty with it, though. It’s a lesson the Marquis is still learning.

“Anyway, would you mind if I negotiate with Old Saxon her while I wait for your brother?”

She’s never learnt how he came to know that they are brothers. Only she and the Marquis knew when Morse arrived, a day and ten years ago.

“Go ahead.”

Endeavour turns to her, his eyes wide and empty of that righteousness they shone with when he still remembered and was called Morse. “So I want some information.”

“Of what kind?”

“I need to know how the Roman soldiers camping under Balliol’s College came to be there.”

It’s an old story, and one that would be too long to tell. Thankfully, she always keeps the most important one written down. She fished it out of her bag. “How is your Latin, Endeavour?”

“Fluid, my girl, fluid.” He smiles. “Want to see what I have?”

Just like the Marquis, she’d probably give it to him for free, but there are rules that should not be broken, and she nods.

He takes something out of his pocket. It’s a broken LP; rare material Below. She inhales.

“That’s worth more than a story.”

“You owe me a favour, then.”

“Only a small one.”

“Only a small one” he huffs, “Fine.” He gives her the pieces. She can’t say for sure, but she believes that one of the words on it used to be _bel_.

“Endeavour, there you are. Old Saxon:” After a pause to let him know how unimportant he thinks he is, the Marquis adds, “Peregrine.”

“As always a pleasure to see you.”

He doesn’t answer. “Endeavour, a drink?”

“Oh, gladly.” He puts the story in his leather jacket. “See you, Old Saxon.”

“Until then, Endeavour.”

She watches them go, and in her chest, something like the heartbreak she remembers from long ago when she was a little girl rises.

* * *

Endeavour is chattering away, as always.

“Anyway, the flock was busy taking apart members who weren’t useful anymore as usual, so I slipped in; it didn’t take me long to steal his staff, he tried to make me go to sleep, of course, but he couldn’t –“

Morse was quiet while the Marquis has yet to find a way to shut Endeavour up. Peregrine walks next to them, quietly amused, and he wishes he could hate him for it.

It would give the small part of himself that instead insists on hating that wonderful man, the Marquis de Carabas, a break.

**Oxford**

Fred doesn’t know what’s the matter with him, lately. He just keeps getting confused. More often than not, intent on telling Jakes something, he’ll step out of his office and first approach Higgins’ desk before realizing.

He also tends to feel weird when Jakes picks him up in the morning, even though he’s been doing it for almost three years now.

And sometimes, he could swear that, when it’s Win or Joan who open the door, they seem weirdly disappointed to see his bagman.

It doesn’t make any sense.

He can pinpoint when it first happened. Two weeks ago, when Higgins talked to him about the burglaries.

But there was nothing unusual about that day –

Was there? Was there? He can’t tell.

There is something he can’t put his finger on.

“Fred, is everything alright?” Win asks that evening as he sips a glass of brandy in the living room with her knitting next to him, the radio playing quietly in the background. She’s chosen a classical station tonight; he doesn’t mind, although sometimes – sometimes –

There’s that feeling again. “Do you ever feel that you’ve forgotten something, but you cannot for the life of you say what it is you have forgotten?”

“isn’t that the very definition of forgetting something?” she asks.

He knows. He knows. But this is different. Somehow. “I can’t explain it either.”

A pause. All there is to hear is the clicking of her needles and the radio. Then, she slowly says, “I think – I understand. I – me, too. Joan as well, I think.”

How? It doesn’t make any sense. “Last two weeks, or something?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no reason for it” Fred says. “That’s what gets me. If we hadn’t managed to solve a case, that would be something, but – “

The announcer says something and music fills the room. He’s out of his seat and standing in front of the radio faster than he can blink.

“Fred? What –“

“Just a moment…” he’s turning up the volume without understanding why, his heart starting to beat wildly in his chest.

A woman’s voice fills the room, singing in Italian, the music telling of heartbreak and loss but also hope –

“That’s nice” Win says after a moment, apparently doing her best to calm him down. “What is it?”

“It’s _Un bel di._ Rosalind Calloway sang it at that charity concert of hers when we arrested her.”

To this day, he suspects either she or her husband had something to do with Mary Tremlett’s death. They left Oxford soon after the case fizzled out to nothing.

Really, he’s grown used to failing now and then. It shouldn’t be that big a deal –

And yet – and yet –

 _Io_ _  
Non gli scendo  
__inconito._  
_Io no._  
_Mi metto là_  
_Sul ciglio del colle -_

His glass shatters at his feet, the brandy soaking the carpet, as he remembers.

“Fred!”

“Morse, Win” he turns to her, his face ashen. “We forgot about Morse.”

She throws up her hands to cover her mouth as it all come rushing back to her as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets a little complicated - please let me know if everything's still clear! Well, as clear as something that was inspired by Neverwhere is ever going to get anyway ^^.

**Oxford**

By noon, the whole station has remembered about Morse, forgotten him again, seen his desk and proceeded to curse because they then realized they forgot.

It’s probably one of the most bizarre mornings Thursday has ever had, but at least it was well spent, for Superintendent Bright agrees that they should be doing everything in their power to get Morse back. “He is one of us, and he only went Below because he was doing his job. It only seems fair.”

“Should we talk to the Marquis, sir?” Strange asks.

Thursday, remembering the regret in his eyes, almost considers it; but then he also remembers how he gleefully told them about Morse before they saw him and shakes his head. “No; better not. Let’s do this our own way.”

The trouble is, no real protocol for dealing with Below exists, for the simple reason that until now, no one has remembered it long enough to create one.

Until now, they didn’t have an anchor.

But today –

Today, they have Morse, who granted, still slips out of their minds now and then, but mostly they can hold on to him.

Higgins, as usual for those who have never heard of Below before, has remained blissfully unaware of what is going on. So he has had to give up his desk – so what. He doesn’t like it when DI Thursday can sneak up on him unawares anyway.

“What about – well – those like the victim, sir?” Strange suggests.

“What about Iliaster?”

“He was at home both Below and Above, wasn’t he? That’s what the Marquis said. That means there have to be others like him, and that means we could find them.”

“It could be our door in” he realizes and Strange nods.

“May I suggest starting with the homeless?” Trewlove asks. “It seems the most logical thing to do.”

It sounds like something Morse would say, and right now, that’s all the recommendation Thursday needs.

* * *

In the following days and weeks, they do their best to keep working while trying to remember that they have to save Morse. His desk – which Thursday, with aid from WPC Trewlove, has made look as much as if Morse only stepped outside for a moment as well as he could – helps greatly, and so does the music Thursday plays at home and in his office. Higgins seems to think he has quite suddenly developed a taste for it, but the others tend to show up when they need a reminder and can feel Morse slip out of their heads.

It works, mostly.

* * *

Alright. He knows this beat. It used to be his, before his promotion, and he’ll be damned if he can’t find anyone to lead him to Below, or at least point the way.

Thinking of the Marquis and Iliaster, they probably have a name that’s easily to identify, so –

Strange stops and thinks. No, Nobby, Eddy and George all sound too normal, plus they are usually just after a drink or some money; Lizzie wouldn’t do either –

But of course.

Beatrice.

Morse would probably have picked her immediately because it sounds Italian and he loves his operas, but whatever. He got there in the end.

So he makes his way to her usual spot. She’s always been discreet about offering her services, and he appreciates that.

“Sergeant Strange!” she greets him, looking surprised. “I thought you were –“

“I am” he says quickly. “Beatrice, this is important. It’s about below.”

She stiffens. “What about it?”

“I need to go there.”

“No you don’t, copper. No one needs to go there. No one should go there.”

“And yet you do on a regular basis, I’m ready to bet.”

She looks down. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Look” he says, “You might not have heard about him, but a colleague of mine, Morse –“

She nods, proving that she can remember him, at least.

“You might know him under another name…” he hesitates, remembering Iliaster’s killer, but then goes on. “He’s called Endeavour, these days.”

Her eyes widen. “Endeavour? He who walks among the shepherds without fear? The slayer of the Beast? The one who has the freedom of the Underside?”

What has he been up to? It’s a complete mystery to Strange how time works down there, but still.

Then again, it’s mores. If anyone could – “That could be him. Rather skinny, big eyes, clever, friends with the Marquis?” Another memory intrudes. “He calls him old scoundrel.”

“Yes. That’s him. He was a colleague of yours – the one you called Morse?”

“Yes. Until three weeks ago, when… I don’t know… the Marquis says he was taken by Below.”

“That makes sense” she mumbles. Strange is inclined to disagree, but listens as she continues. “I mean – I’ve known about him for years. He’s a legend Below, of course. Anyone who has done what he has would be. But still there have been stories about where he came from and why, and here we are – a copper. Who would have thought. That certainly answers a few questions – raises even more, mind. And what do you want from me, then?”

Strange stares at her. “We want to get him back!”

“To get Endeavour back? To get _Endeavour_ back Above? Have you lost your mind? No one gets him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, and all signs point to him thoroughly enjoying himself Below.”

“He doesn’t belong there. He belongs with us.”

She huffs. “Tell that to the Marquis. He’s taken him under his wing – or maybe it’s the other way around – or perhaps it’s something else entirely. You can never say, with these two.”

“Listen, Beatrice” he pleads. “I know how this sounds, but – he’s not just my colleague. He’s my friend. I’ve been trying to remember him for days now, and sometimes it’s easier and sometimes it’s difficult, but I have to help him. He’s more than once proven he’s read to give up his life for those he cares about.”

Her eyes soften. “You are a good man, Jim Strange, even though you are a copper. I have always known that.” She takes a deep breath. “Fine, but you haven’t heard this from me…”

**Elsewhere – three weeks and ten years ago**

_Morse doesn’t know where he is. He only remembers trying to apprehend the killer and rolling of the platform, DI Thursday calling his name._

_It’s very cold, and very dark._

_Below. They went Below, and he somehow got lost._

_He gets up and dusts himself. Lying around won’t help._

_The killer is long gone, of course. He sighs. He would have liked to apprehend him, but he knows it’s unlikely he will, now._

_Three small children surprise him by coming out of nowhere and chasing each other around… wherever he is._

_He manages to catch one of them, a small boy, who immediately starts screaming to let him go._

_He does his best to hush him._

_“Listen, I –“_

_The knife comes out of nowhere, but he takes it out of his hand just in time._

_The boy stares at him. “How did you do that?”_

_“I am a police officer.”_

_He bursts into laughter. “No police around here.”_

_“So I gathered. Can you tell me where I can fine the Marquis de Carabas?”_

_If anyone can take him home, Morse figures it’s him._

_He starts struggling again. “I know nothing!”_

_So he knows everything._

_“Where can I find him?” he repeats._

_“The Market, okay! It’s in Vienna tonight!”_

_But didn’t the Marquis say the murder broke the Market truce? They can’t have walked within five miles of Vienna, surely._

_Then again, it is Below… “Thank you” he says and lets the boy go._

_“My knife!” he demands. He thinks it best to return it to him._

_He disappears into the darkness._

_Morse takes a deep breath._

_He has to get to the market, and he has to find the Marquis._

_At least he has a plan._

* * *

 

_His plan proves not to be very fool-proof, since he has no idea how to get to Vienna. He’s stumbling around, now and then falling down because the floor is so uneven, feeling hunger, thirst and exhaustion creeping up on him._

_He doesn’t know how long he has been walking when a voice behind him says, “Hello, I’m Velvet. What’s your name?”_

_It’s friendly enough that he turns around._

_One of the most beautiful women he has veer seen is looking at him; she’s wearing a dress made of black silk, her green eyes fixed upon his face, and he unconsciously reaches up to fix his hair._

_She smiles. “What’s your name?” she repeats._

_“They call me Morse.”_

_Usually, that earns him at least a raised eyebrow, but she doesn’t even flinch. Small wonder, with the names down here. “And where are you trying to go, Morse?”_

_“Vienna.”_

_“Ah. The market.” After a pause, she adds, “I know all the ways down here, you know. I could lead you there.”_

_“You would?”_

_“I said I could” she says, stepping up top him and running a cold finger down his face. “You’re so very warm, Morse.”_

_“Thank you?” he tries. “Listen, if you would lead me there, that would be –“_

_“If you agree to grant me a favour.”_

_“A favour?”_

_“It’s how things work Below. You’ll learn.” Her eyes are laughing for a reason Morse can’t understand._

_She really is very beautiful._

_“I’d rather not” he tells her. “But yes, I owe you a favour.”_

_This time, she laughs out loud. “Just as well. Let’s go.”_

* * *

_Morse can’t say if their walk is long or short, or how much time it takes; all he knows is that he’s following Velvet, doing his best to keep up._

_“Does the Market always take place in Vienna?” he finally asks._

_“Oh dear me, no. It’s a Floating Market – it changes places.”_

_“And how is it decided where the next Market is going to be?” It strikes Morse as rather important, considering the Truce and what happens when you break it._

_She doesn’t answer._

_“Who decides it, then?”_

_Again, she remains silent, and he resigns himself to never learning quite how it works. Maybe it’s for the better._

_His eyes dart this way and that, but all he can see is the darkness and occasionally shadowy figures._

_“Don’t pay attention to them” she tells him, “They are out for your blood.”_

_“Metaphorically?” he hopes._

_Her laughter is all the answer he needs._

_“There we are” she suddenly announces and he becomes aware of the Market around them._

_It doesn’t make sense. How did he walk into this without realizing? There are stalls everywhere; people and creatures who look nothing like people bustling about; and the smells, and the noises –_

_Dear God, the noises. There are voices shouting, bargaining, pleading; there is singing and screaming, yelling and hollering, and so much more._

_His head whirls._

_“Morse?” she lays a delicate, if icy, hand on his forearm. “That favour you promised me…”_

_“Yes?” He looks into her eyes and the Market slips from his consciousness again._

_“You are so warm, Morse, and I am feeling so very cold… Can I have a little bit of your warmth? Just such a small bit…”_

_“Of course” he finds himself saying and then they are kissing. It’s so heavenly he almost doesn’t feel the cold seeping into him from where they are touching; almost._

_Everything is growing so cold and dark and his thoughts are fading away –_

_“Velvet! Remember the Market truce!” a voice interrupts them and he sinks to the floor._

_“I wasn’t killing him, I was just taking his life.”_

_“That doesn’t count, and you know it. You give that boy back his warmth now!”_

_She seems to comply because the world around him comes into focus again and he can think._

_“All of it.”_

_He leaps up when he feels the rest of his energy returning, only seeing Velvet’s back as she storms off._

_“Never promise a Lamia a favour. Remember that” the little old lady who saved him is saying. “Now what does a fine young man from Above do down here?”_

_“I am looking for the Marquis de Carabas.”_

_Her eyes widen. “Curiouser and curiouser.” She extends her hand. “They call me Old Saxon.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Elsewhere**

“I thought the elephant wasn‘t talking to you” Endeavour says. “I heard he even pledged a reward to anyone who brought him your head.”

“That’s my point” he says patiently.

Really, it’s a disgrace. He, the man who is never patient, he, the one who knows everything, he, who is suave and clever and alone because he _wants_ to be, actually –

But he never geos there. It would do him no good to go there.

“Ah. And so you want me to deal with him? Me? Don’t you remember last autumn? He was rather put out about me stealing his glasses  –“

“I do understand, but –“

“Just kidding”. He grins. “But you owe me a big favour for his diary.”

“Yes I do” he sighs.

“Fine”. Endeavour downs his drink. To the Marquis’ relief, he led them to the stall of the miners and not to the mushroom people. Ghee didn’t feel like checking his drink for spores today. “I’ll see what I can do. And that’s everything, as you well know. Goodbye for now, you old scoundrel. Peregrine.”

And he skips away.

“The lad’s got talent, I will say that” his brother announces in his silky-smooth voice. “But he’s a bit cocky.”

“You need to be sure of yourself ibn Below, you know that.”

“Oh yes.” Peregrine tosses back his drink with an elegance the Marquis can’t help but admire and envy him for. “But you always need to take stock sometimes. Look back.”

He hoped that his brother wouldn’t care to remember. It was an idle hope, of course.

“Well. I have to be on my way as well.” And he is gone without a goodbye, as usual.

The Marquis hates it when people do that.

Really, he shouldn’t lose time. He has better things to do.

**Oxford**

Talking about it seems to be the only thing they can make sure none of them forget. Win, bless her heart, does her best to comfort him again and again.

 “Oh Fred, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Who led him there? I should never have taken him with.”

“You know he would have come anyway.”

That may be true, but it doesn’t help them now. He’s told Win everything he remembers, which has been difficult enough with the thoughts sliding in and out of his head, and she’s been taking a copious amount of notes to make sure they don’t forget again.

He’s not certain they will succeed. He’s not sure they can.

“You should have seen him. He didn’t recognize us at all. He actually offered us his services. And he seems to have grown close to the Marquis de Carabas, and that’s not a good thing.”

“You’ve mentioned him more than once” Win says, ever practical, “Better tell me more.”

And he does, even though it’s difficult to concentrate. The music, the music Morse loved, drifts through the room, making it easier; and somehow, he doesn’t understand why, it becomes easier the longer he goes on.

When he’s finished speaking, telling her all about Oxford Below and how he thinks it works, he feels calmer.

Win is surprisingly relaxed about it all, which is explained when she describes what it was like in London during the war. “London below was just as shaken as London Above, in a different way, but still. I remember a nice old man – he was a vampire, I think – coming round after every strike to check up on us.” She frowns. “I would have liked to remember him sooner.”

That’s his Win. He squeezes her hand.

“I also think it helps that we were – that we are close to Morse. He is part of below now, so it might be easier for us to understand.” She looks down on her motes. “We’ll have to be careful not to forget again. You said the aria was called Un bel di, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll buy the LP tomorrow. And I’ll make sure those” she waves her papers in the air, “Are the first things we see in the morning.”

He kisses her, praying it will be enough.

* * *

 

They almost forget again. The next morning, everything is normal, until he gets back from the bathroom and sees the notes Win took, wondering what all of that paper is doing on his nightstand.

As soon as he reads the first line, he remembers, and hastens to join Win in the kitchen.

“Win, Mo –“

“I know, I wrote his name down and put the paper next to the stove. Poor lamb.”

He takes a deep breath. It’s working. Not for long, but it’s something.

* * *

 

He searches for a station that plays classical music as soon as they get in the car. Jakes seems rather confused by this once again, so as soon as they are off, Thursday asks casually, “Does the name Morse ring a bell?”

He really should know by now that it’s the wrong thing to say while he’s driving. The car swerves and only very nearly misses a little old lady walking her dog.

“Bloody hell!” Jakes curses. “It’s just like the Marquis said – it just keeps happening - I'll be so sure that this time – but I almost didn’t remember!”

Thursday nods. “Thank God I heard opera on the radio that night. We might never have known.”

“Good God.” Jakes grips the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white.

* * *

The desk at the station reminds everyone before it’s even ten am. Strange is at court, so he hasn't been able to tell them what he learned from the homeless yet.

The last one to remember is Superintendent Bright, who comes in, sees it, blinks, shakes his head and then asks, “Any news?”

It’s a start.

It’s all they can do.

**Elsewhere – two weeks and ten years ago**

**_The Marquis first meets Endeavour on a rather unremarkable Tuesday. Unremarkable for Below, of course, so it would be rather strange for Above’s standards, but what else is new?_ **

**_He is walking down the riverbank when someone starts humming behind him. He quickly recognizes the melody – Strauß – so is not in the least surprised when they follow it up with the only logical greeting of “Mein Herr Marquis.”_ **

**_When he turns around, eh sees a young man well equipped for life down Below, smiling his own smile back at him, the smile he spent years practicing in his youth. It’s more than a little disconcerting._ **

**_“Yes?”_ **

**_“The Great Beast of Oxford… ever heard of it? People say it’s making its rounds again.”_ **

**_He’s heard rumours, of course, but that’s not enough to distract him from the fact that the man speaks as if they are old acquaintances when he has no idea who he is._ **

**_“So I’ve heard.”_ **

**_“Then what are we going to do about it, old scoundrel?” he asks cheerfully._ **

**_For years, no one has dared address him in such a manner. He hates to admit it, but he is at a loss. “I hardly think any interference is needed on our part.”_ **

**_“You would think so, but I believe – I –“ he tilts his head to the side, looking rather confused for a moment before shaking his head and moving on. “What do you know about the Lamia?”_ **

**_“The Lamia? Everyone knows all there is to know about them. They sleep here at day, now and then they slip Above to suck the life out of some poor fool who doesn’t know better.”_ **

**_“But where do they come from? What is their goal?”_ **

**_It’s the first time he ever encounters Endeavour’s need to understand everything, a need he will only understand much, much later._ **

* * *

 

**_The next time he encounters him is the following week on the Market._ **

**_He’s just reached the stall of Old Saxon. Ah, tonight, she has once more decided to offer food. Excellent. Anything to keep him away from the old man selling sausages two stalls down or the mushroom people._ **

**_And yet, she is eying him with something almost like contempt._ **

**_Now, the Marquis is rather used to being despised. But it’s something new for Old Saxon to show it so openly._ **

**_“Good evening, Old Saxon.”_ **

**_“Marquis” she says sharply. “And how are you?”_ **

**_“I’m well, thank you” he says politely. No one knows how old she really is, or how much power she yields. Better to stay on her good side._ **

**_“That’s nice to know” she continues, still rather annoyed with him. “It’s really good that you are well, considering what you did to that –“ she breaks off._ **

**_Ah. How interesting._ **

**_Old Saxon, the Marquis well knows, has the power of remembering; she doesn’t just forget and move on because it’s easier like the rest of Above and Below._ **

**_Apparently he has done something rather awful. Or is going to. Time can be a fickle master. Or playfellow, as he has always preferred to think of it._ **

**_“Old Saxon! I do hope you’re still fit as ever, my girl”. Endeavour skips up to them, humming a tune, his eyes wide and almost glowing in this light, and he wonders why he almost feels guilty for a second._ **

**_Only almost, of course. He’s made it a firm rule of his never to feel guilty about anything. Otherwise it would take up too much of his time._ **

**_He hums Strauß again as he looks at him, then laughs. “Found out more about the Lamia yet?”_ **

**_“No. Do you want to know?”_ **

**_“Ah, old scoundrel, you want me to pay. Fine, fine. You get my all information there is on them, I owe you a favour. A middle one”._ **

**_“A middle one?”_ **

**_“Yes, not quite small, but not huge either. I am not a fool.”_ **

**_No, the Marquis thinks, this man is most definitely not a fool._ **

**_More’s the pity. He quite likes fools. They are so easily to manipulate._ **

**_On the other hand, Endeavour could be interesting, and the Marquis has seldom someone who is as interesting as he himself is._ **

**_Naturally, he has never met someone who is more interesting, either. That’s just impossible._ **

**_“Well then, old Saxon, here, have some string. May I have a bit of your excellent curry for it?”_ **

**_Oh, she gives him more than she usually reserves for customers. This Endeavour must be special indeed._ **

**_He better start looking for knowledge about the Lamia, and quickly._ **

* * *

**_One day not long after, he’s walking through the sewers. Well. Walking fast. Fleeing, in fact._ **

**_Some people are too unforgiving._ **

**_Suddenly, a gate opens up next to him and he’s dragged through before he can react._ **

**_The door wasn’t there before, of course. But that, he’s used to._ **

**_The fact that he just got saved for no other reason than someone apparently wanted to is what confuses him._ **

**_Then again, thinking of his reputation…_ **

**_“Da muss ich lachen, mein Herr“ Endeavour greets him cheerfully, but the Marquis has yet to find him thoughtful or sad. “You really almost got caught. You should feel honoured; Croup and Vandemar are – “_ **

**_“The best, I know.”_ **

**_“So then why did you let yourself get cornered by them?”_ **

**_“You do realize that them being the best in their trade does imply they are really good at it?”_ **

**_He slaps his forehead with his hand. “I should have thought of that! My mistake.” Another one of those blinding smiles. “Anyway, that’s all dealt with. Well, they’ll still be after you, but you’ve won quite a bit of time.”_ **

**_“I guess so.” He sighs. He’ll have to do it. Some rules not even he can break. “I owe you –“_ **

**_“Nothing” he interrupts him, busy inspecting the walls around them as if they hold a secret. It’s Oxford Below, so they probably do._ **

**_“I beg your pardon?”_ **

**_“You owe me nothing. Just thought you could use the help, old scoundrel. Ah! There it is!”_ **

**_And he vanishes, leaving the Marquis to reflect that no one except for his brother has ever cared enough to simply come and help him._ **

**_It seems like he will have to give the information on the Lamia for nothing after all, just out of principle._ **

**_The Marquis has always hated principles. They just get in the way, if you ask him._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, leave me a comment, please? Sorry to ask, I have just been feeling anxious the past couple of days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind reviews, I can't thank you enough! I am so glad people are enjoying my story :D

“Follow the rats?“ Thursday asks.

“That’s what Beatrice said. And for what it’s worth, sir, she’s always been honest.”

Thursday looks like he doesn’t quite trust that s, but it doesn’t matter to Jakes.

He looks at Morse’s desk again.

He hasn’t told anyone, but ever since he first learned Morse was gone and remembered the awkward but brilliant constable who used to annoy him so much, he’s had little trouble top keep him in his mind. The reason for that is – well, Blenheim Vale.

They were all so lost, in so much pain, that even stories about Below seemed a good idea to make them forget, just for a little while.

And so every time he hears about Below, it’s less like his world shifts slightly and more like he is reminded of an old acquaintance that he temporarily missed to think about for a while.

And because of this, he remembers the stories the other boys told each other at Blenheim Vale, and he knows there are other ways to Below.

More dangerous ones, ones he has never contemplated using, not once.

But as he looks at Morse’s desk, he knows he has to try.

* * *

 

That night, he slowly walks along Ombre Street. Might as well do it in the shadows.

The knife he got from his kitchen drawer should be sharp enough. And even if it isn’t – things have a way to work out a certain way when Below is involved, or at least that’s what they used to whisper to each other at night in the dormitory to make them think of something, anything else than the reality they had to deal with.

In an especially dark corner, he draws the blade and draws three lines on the wall. Two vertical, one horizontal.

After all, what is a door but a rectangle?

At first, nothing happens, so he starts to push against it.

“That’s dangerous, you know” says a voice he remembers so very well and yet managed to forget about just a short time ago. “Aboveners really shouldn’t mingle with those Below.”

He turns around. Morse – or rather Endeavour, as he calls himself now – is leaning against the wall, looking at him.

“I was trying to contact you” he tells him the truth. Might as well try and get him to help. All cannot be lost. Not when it comes to him. He’s always been too stubborn for that.

“Oh?”

“You said we could contact you if we ever needed anything.”

“I did, didn’t I.” He’s trying to appear uninterested, but Jakes knows better. Knows _him_ better.

“And you’re here. Means there’s something that –“

“I get curious whenever something strange happens. Just ask the Marquis.”

Jakes would indeed like to see the Marquis indeed, but he wouldn’t have any questions to ask him. Rather, he’d prefer it if he could tell him a few things. And maybe pummel hymn to the ground before Thursday gets a chance to do it. “I need something.”

“So I gathered.” Morse tilts his head to the side and studies him like he used to do when it came to files, what seems like forever ago. “What –“

“Information?”

His eyes light up. “Information? That’s going to be expensive.”

He has a few savings, so that should be alright.

“I promised someone a new sweater, and a car battery.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“We don’t trade like you people do. It’s things and favours, with us. Money would be rather worthless, all things considered.”

He doesn’t quite understand, but fine. The things Morse asked for are easily enough obtained. “We have a deal.”

“Alright then, ask away. And if I don’t know the answer, I guarantee I can find it within… oh, let’s say two of your days.”

The way he says it sounds like he expects a century to pass for him in the meantime, but Jakes doesn’t comment on it. “It’s about… people who slip through the cracks. Who come to Below from… here.”

“Oh. I see” He frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

He takes a deep breath. “I – I recently lost a – a friend.”

“And you think he’s in Below? Sorry to tell you, but if you can remember, it’s unlikely –“

“I _know_ he is in Below.”

“Oh? I would be very interested in that story.”

Jakes things quickly. As long as he doesn’t remember or even suspect, it is highly unlikely that he would believe him. “I don’t doubt it, but we didn’t say anything about an exchange of information.”

He hums. “Granted, I have to give you that.” He smiles. “You’re not a bad negotiator. Not bad at all.”

“So… about the people who… fall into Below, so to speak.” He has no idea how to even word his questions, but then part of him didn’t think this would work. There was always some doubt that he’d even make it this far, considering he actually cut a door in a wall like a madman.

“Alright, let me help you out a bit. You mean those who are living happy and carefree lives in Above, and then one day they get dragged down, and no one even remembers they existed?” Morse – _Endeavour_ – says.

He nods. “I want to know how to save them.”

At that, he throws his head back and laughs, but it’s unlike any laughter Jakes has ever heard from him. “Save them? Either they are dead – that happens quickly Below – or they have found a way to survive. Nothing for you to do.”

“Nothing? We did agree on a trade, you know.”

“That is true” he concedes. “Thing is, I have never heard of someone returning Above. Or even going Above without an excellent reason. It’s usually just the other way round.” After a pause he says, “I will ask around, though. Think of the sweater and the car battery.”

“I will. Two days, you said?”

“Yes, two days – and then either I contact you or I’m dead” he answers with a rather crazy smile. “Like I said, it can happen fairly quickly.”

In the next moment he is gone, and Jakes stares at the place where he cut a door that’s not there anymore.

**Elsewhere – three weeks and ten years ago**

**_The Marquis doesn’t like being beholden to anyone. And this Endeavour who just showed up out of nowhere –_ **

**_Alright, that thought is ridiculous. It’s Below. Of course he showed up out of nowhere._ **

**_But why would he save his life? Why would he – this Endeavour – care?_ **

**_That’s what he cannot find the answer to._ **

**_Moreover, he seems to know the Marquis, and know him well. Yet he has only seen him a handful of times. At least the answer to that question he can easily imagine – time moves differently Below, in loops, in streams, in circles; he will meet him for the first time in the future, undoubtedly._ **

**_But until then, he needs to find out all he can about him._ **

**_And so, on the next Market, he walks straight up to Old Saxon’s stall. She knows all the stories, has all the information anyone could desire._ **

**_He clears his throat. It’s still a bit sore, since someone tried to cut it last week. “Old Saxon.”_ **

**_“Marquis.” Still that almost angry look in her eyes. He has dealt with worse._ **

**_“I need information.”_ **

**_“If it’s about who I think it is, it’s going to cost you” she warns him._ **

**_Again, that, he can deal with. Old Saxon is not unreasonable or sadistic. She only asks for things she knows she has a chance of getting. “A big favour, then.”_ **

**_“Good. Ask away.”_ **

**_“It’s about Endeavour.”_ **

**_She isn’t surprised. “Yes.”_ **

**_When she doesn’t say anything, he begins, “Who is he? How does he know me? How do you know him?”_ **

**_“Those are a lot of questions.”_ **

**_“A big favour from the Marquis de Carabas is not purchased for nothing” he reminds her, using the fact that his voice is still a little hoarse from his close encounter for dramatic effect._ **

**_“Oh don’t I know it.” She pauses then says, “It’s not easy, remembering, you know.”_ **

**_Oh yes, he does know. Especially when it comes to Old Saxon’s way of remembering things – remembering both the past and the future. It is a rather impressive trick, and he’s used it to his advantage more than once._ **

**_“And sometimes – sometimes remembering can be painful.”_ **

**_That intrigues him. He hasn’t seen Old Saxon distressed in – it must be centuries. “I am sure it can be.”_ **

**_“Hah. You don’t know this kind of pain, Marquis. But you will. You will.”_ **

**_Old Saxon’s predictions have a habit of coming true, so this makes him feel rather uneasy. “Well? Who is he?”_ **

**_“Oh, just one of those who slipped and fell into life Below and had to carve put a career for himself, so to speak. He’s probably the closest we’ll ever get to having a police force.”_ **

**_She is trying to tell him something, that much is clear. “You mean he just goes around helping people?” That is certainly unheard of, Below._ **

**_“Don’t look so shocked, some like to do that.” She takes pity on him. “Sometimes I think it has less to do with who he is and more with who he_ ** **was _.”_**

**_“Who was he, then?”_ **

**_“What all young people are. Desperate. Scared. Wanting to go home.” Another pause. “And one of the best men I ever met before Below took him and turned him into whatever he is now.”_ **

**_It’s one of the things the Marquis has never fully understood – simply, because he decided to name himself after a fairy-tale and become himself, rather than let anything do it for him. Or_ ** **to _him._**

**_“Sounds like you are rather fond of him.”_ **

**_“I am. I was. I probably will be again. It’s complicated.”_ **

**_Isn’t everything, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “But why would he help me?”_ **

**_“Because to the police, Marquis, even you are just a citizen deserving of their care” is all the answer she gives him._ **

**_And to think he granted her a big favour for that._ **

* * *

 

**_He’s walking towards the mushroom people’s stalls – now and then, although only very rarely, he decides he’d like one of their snacks – when he spies Endeavour._ **

**_He doesn’t have a stall of his own; there are always those who prefer not to, the Marquis among them. People know how to find him._ **

**_And so Endeavour is standing at a corner, being talked to by at least five people at once._ **

**_The Marquis watches him closely. Is his reputation as the one and only Marquis de Carabas, the fixer of things, in danger? But no; he recognizes some of them; they approached him but he turned him down since he didn’t consider their problems worth his time. Endeavour does indeed like to help the helpless, then. How strange._ **

**_He’s busy talking to a young woman from Raven’s court. Considering she’s received some unwanted attention from a persistent admirer over the last few weeks, he can easily guess what it’s about._ **

**_Endeavour catches his eyes and he turns away. Time to get something to eat._ **

**_But he’s not fated to have his snack in peace._ **

**_“Looks like someone is becoming a bit of a rival, brother”._ **

**_He turns to find Peregrine. It is very irritating how he always shows up without announcing himself before, and then has to act as dramatically as possible. “So what? The people know where to find the best if they want him.”_ **

**_“I don’t know; I have been hearing an awful lot of interesting things about this Endeavour”._ **

**_“Really? I haven’t heard anything.”_ **

**_“That’s hardly polite, considering I saved your life the other day” he says, sounding obnoxiously happy as always, sitting down next to him. “A mushroom, cooked and sliced please, Elsinor.”_ **

**_Barely anyone ever bothers to learn the names of the mushroom people._ **

**_“Why not eat it raw?”_ **

**_“I don’t think I am made for symbiosis” is his cheerful answer. “Hello, old scoundrel. And Peregrine, I believe?”_ **

**_“You’ve got good information.”_ **

**_“Oh, I just do what I can to survive around here. You know how it is.”_ **

**_Yes, he knows how it is._ **

**_But that doesn’t mean that Endeavour isn’t a mystery to be solved._ **


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - Old Saxon is based on Old Bailey from the book, but still very much my own creation :)

**Elsewhere – Three weeks and ten years ago**

_Of course this would be a Market where the Marquis fails to show up._

_At least Old Saxon seems nice._

_She gives him curry to eat. He’s never been particularly fond of curry, but right now he would eat anything: and he thinks sadly of Mrs. Thursday’s talents as he does so._

_“So you are new around here” she says, “And you already almost got killed by a Lamia.”_

_He nods. “I didn’t think –“_

_“Always think before you promise someone a favour. It’s an important currency around here.”_

_He hopes that he won’t have to stay long enough to remember her advice. “How do I get back to Oxford?”_

_“You are in Oxford” she explains patiently. “Well – technically. The same way you are technically in Vienna at the moment.”_

_He shakes his head. It’s all too confusing._

_“You will learn.”_

_“I don’t want to learn. I want to go home.”_

_“Oh dear” she sighs. “I see this will be difficult. Best if I take you home at the end of the Market. You can lie down at the back of my stall, if you want; you look exhausted.”_

_He is, and there is nothing but to accept her offer until she is read to tell him more._

* * *

 

_The walk back to Oxford – sadly, Oxford Below, the Oxford that doesn’t make any sense, no matter how hard he tries – takes much shorter than the one Velvet took him on, and he wonders if she wanted to exhaust him so it would be even easier to steal his – warmth? Life? He can’t say._

_Old Saxon even leads him to a place he knows._

_“But that is –“ he begins to say, then stops talking. It’s not Saint Michael, at least not the Saint Michael he knows. For one, it seems – for lack of a better word – younger; cleaner; more – more free._

_“That’s Below for you. There are always pockets of time you can use, if you know how. Come on.”_

_She leads him to the entry of the tower – of the Saxon. He’s been helping her carrying her large bags – rather surprised that she made it to the Market alone – and is so focused on making sur he doesn’t drop them that he only realizes how high they have gotten when sunlight (shouldn’t it be night by now? Maybe it’s day again?) hits his face and he looks up to see all of Oxford below him._

_He stands still, his hands tightening around the bags._

_“Agh” is all he manages to say._

_“Morse?” She turns around and mistakes his terror for admiration. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s why I chose to live her, quite some time ago. I can never get enough of that view.”_

_“Agh” he says again._

_“Morse?” she repeats. “Oh no, you are scared of heights”_

_He nods. At least he thinks he does. He can’t be quite sure that his muscles obey him._

_“Oh you poor thing, let me take those –“ And she relieves him of the bags. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that she probably only wanted him to feel useful and that’s why she allowed him to carry them._

_“Close your eyes” she urges him. He does so and she draws him forward. “There we are.”_

_When he opens his eyes again, they are thankfully inside, although he hasn’t heard a door opening or closing and isn’t aware that they entered a building. It must be a room within the tower._

_He lets himself sink down on a chair and takes a few deep breaths._

_“I’m sorry – I’m so used to it, it never occurs to me that people could be_ scared _of the view” she apologizes._

_“It’s quite alright”. Really, all things considered, it is. The view from the tower was at least somewhat normal, which is more than he can say about anything else that’s happened to him._

_“Still – let me make you a cup of tea.”_

_He’s grateful to receive it, although he decides that he better not ask what sort of tea it is, exactly._

_“Look” she says, sitting down opposite him, sipping her own tea, “I don’t know how to say this – no, that’s a lie., I know how to say this, but it’s not what you want to hear.”_

_“I –“_

_“I know you want to look for a way back home” she interrupts him quickly, “But there isn’t one. You don’t exist anymore in the world Above.”_

_“What do you mean? DI Thursday and the others will be looking for me –“_

_“No they won’t. You fell down Below, and Below took you – well not quite yet, but you will – that doesn’t matter at the moment – and you belong here now.”_

_“I don’t! I never even knew of Below until today –“ When he sees her unimpressed look, he continues, “Well, I mean, I knew of it when I heard about it, but I never  came here before – I only arrived today!” After a moment he adds, “Or yesterday. It could be that I spent the night –“_

_“Morse.” She lays a hand on his forearm and her voice drops to a motherly tone, not unlike Mrs. Thursday’s when she asks him if he’s had dinner yet. “I know this doesn’t make sense, but you are one of those Below now. It’s not a bad life. Not bad at all. You just have to get used to it –“_

_“I don’t have to get used to anything. I am going home” he says stubbornly. It’s what he has to cling to, what he needs to cling to if he wants to stay sane. “I have a job and a flat, and my colleagues will be looking for me.” He can’t believe that DI Thursday and the others would forget about him, just like that._

_He refuses to believe that Below can just swallows him and take everything he was, destroying it in the process._

_She sighs. “I told you –“_

_“And I told you!” After a moment’s silence, he feels bad and begins, I’m sorry –“_

_“You don’t have to apologize. I understand this is stressful”. And then she adds, “Maybe you’ll make it. Just because something has never been done before, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”_

_It’s not the most enthusiastic of encouragements, but he’ll take what he can get._

**Oxford**

He has to tell Thursday that he has seen Morse, of course. He would never forgive him if he didn’t, and he’s bound to find out, seeing as he’s focused on nothing but getting him out of there these days.

Not that jakes can think of much else, either. He throws Morse’s empty desk a glance as he walks past it. It somehow doesn’t look right without his skinny frame bent over the typewriter.

He knocks. “Yes?”

He enters.

* * *

 

“You did what?”

“I had a hunch” he says, “And it worked.”

He half-expected Thursday to get angry, but instead he takes a deep breath and asks, “How is he?”

He shrugs. “Good, I think – for one of _them_. Looked like he did when we first saw him like this. And was ready to bargain with me.”

“So you set him on his own case?”

“From the way he was talking, I figured he would be the best option to get information, and I don’t think the Marquis is ready to help us.”

“No” Thursday growls. “He is involved somehow. I know it. I just can’t figure out what his plan is.”

“Maybe he just wanted Morse Below.”

“What for?”

Jakes can only shrug once more. He’s wondered about it himself. Granted, Morse seems to have made a reputation for himself, if what Strange told them is anything to go by; but shouldn’t that rather deter the Marquis than make him wish that Morse should stay?

“We do know that if anyone can find the information we need, it’s Morse” he says, having decided not to call him Endeavour. He hates his first name – for good reason, what were his parents thinking – and he won’t insult him when he’s not there by calling him by it.

Thursday nods. “What did he want in return?”

He tells him.

The DI shakes his head. “Those bloody rules never made sense to me.”

“They probably can’t get any decent sweaters or car batteries” Jakes supplies. After all, normal Aboveners, those who don’t remember Below exists, can’t even _see_ the people who come from there.

On the other hand, doesn’t that mean they could just steal what they need?

This was really all way too bloody confusing to deal with. They could need Morse’s help.

“At least we know how to contact him” Thursday says, and Jakes thinks that he would rather not do it when he is around. He and Morse are close, and it would most likely only hurt the Old Man, looking into his face and seeing nothing there, nothing of their shared cases or Morse coming to save him back at Blenheim Vale.

It was almost too much for Jakes, and he wouldn’t even call himself and Morse friends, exactly.

“So we keep talking to Morse, and we follow the rats – whatever that means” he says. Really, the woman Strange spoke to could have been a bit more forthcoming, if you ask him.

“There are more than enough pf those around, at least” Thursday muses, but Jakes studies him with concern. He looks exhausted – probably lies awake half the night worrying about his bagman; and he knows for a fact that half the time he forgets to eat the sandwiches Mrs. Thursday makes for him.

“Sir…” he chooses his words carefully. “I know it’s not my place to say, but I don’t think Morse would want you to ruin yourself ragged over this.”

For a moment, he believes Thursday is going to explode – he certainly looks like he’s about to fly into one of his infamous rages, like the one where Morse and Strange had to pry him away from a suspect – but then he slumps down at his desk, sighing deeply “I know. He’d probably say he’s not worth the effort.”

He sounds so forlorn that Jakes can’t help but protest. “We know better, sir.”

Even he does. It took him a while, but he does.

* * *

 

Win has taken to listening to opera music when she’s alone in the house. It makes it easier for her to remember, and the more people remember Morse, the more likely it is that they’ll get him back.

And get him back they must. She won’t allow that poor boy to stay Below, where it’s dark and dangerous and he could die any moment, just because he tried to arrest a suspect.

They haven’t told Joan or Sam. Somehow, they can’t find the right words.

She can only fervently hope that something will happen soon.

Something that will tell them what to do.

* * *

 

As he promised, Morse contacts him two days later.

Jakes has just left the pub when he happily calls out, “Hey, cowboy!”

How he came to call him that, Jakes will never know. “Hello – Endeavour.” It feels wrong to call him that to his face, but he has no choice.

“Hi” he says, skipping up to him, “So I found something.”

Jakes waits.

“Thing is” he says after he doesn’t do him the favour of asking, “It’s rather awkward, but you’ll have to come Below with me. The information I found is so old I couldn’t bring it with me or the paper would just crumble into dust.”

“Can’t you tell me what it says?”

“And you would just believe me if you didn’t see it with your own eyes?”

As much as he hates to admit it, it’s an argument, and a solid one at that. He knows Morse well enough, but he doesn’t know this happy-go-lucky fellow. And he hasn’t paid him yet, so really, he could be telling him anything.

Bur it’s… Below.

The Below that took Morse and turned him into this.

Jakes takes a deep breath. What has to be, has to be.

“Fine. Lead on, Macduff.”

“It’s _Lay on, Macduff_ , actually” he grins. “But you’re right. No time like the present.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Elsewhere**

Jakes, following Morse, knows fully well that this is a terrible idea. But every time he sees him, it could very well be the last – the possibility that they’ll all forget about him again is a very real one; and he owes him to try and get him back.

He remembers that terrible day, when he revealed that he’d been one of the children at Blenheim Vale. Morse didn’t even flinch, just ran off to save Thursday. And he never alluded to it afterwards. Not once.

That man still has to be in there somewhere. Jakes refuses to believe otherwise.

Morse – the man he has chosen to still call Morse – stops at a nondescript corner and reaches for the wall. Jakes is not as surprised as he probably should be as a door that wasn’t there before swings open.

“Alright, cowboy, in we go! Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Like I said, lead on.”

He grins again – Jakes doesn’t think he’s ever seen Morse smile that much, and it’s awful that he can’t be relieved now that it’s finally happening – and all but jumps ibn.

Jakes has no choice but to follow.

“How do you open doors like that, anyway?” he asks as he stumbles after him in the darkness.

“It’s really not difficult. You did it yourself only a short while ago, remember?”

“Yes, but all I did was cut a few lines into a brick wall.”

“That’s more than enough. Other than that, you just have to know where you’re going.”

He is just starting to wonder why Morse is revealing so much to him when he adds, “Not that it matters. You shouldn’t want to come here in the first place. And why do you remember that friend of yours in the first place? You Aboveners shouldn’t even be able to recall that you –“

They are interrupted by a few of the most beautiful women Jakes has ever seen. There’s something ethereal about them, but also something primal, something that makes it seem like they might want to eat him as much as talk to him and unconsciously, he moves a bit closer to his guide.

“Ah, Velvet and the other ladies.” His voice has turned cold. “How pleasant to see you.”

“We all know that’s a lie” Velvet (Jakes presumes) answers and smiles. “You never seem happy to see us, Endeavour. And that’s rather remarkable, considering you are happy about everything, they tell me.”

“Are we listening to rumours now?”

He does indeed look uncomfortable for the first time since his – transformation (or whatever Jakes is supposed to call it) and he clearly doesn’t trust these women – which surprised him since he trusts the Marquis de Carabas, of all people.

“We do have to. You never speak to us.”

“Let me and my guest pass.”

“Yes, about that… Why are you dragging Aboveners around Below, now? There are rules.”

“And I have the freedom of the Underside, as you well know. And now let us pass, or I will have to use force.”

It’s calmly said, but there is an edge to his voice that makes it obvious he’s ready to follow through, and they disperse.

“Who –“

“The Lamia. They take your warmth away until you die” he answers simply.

Of course no one from the world Above wants to live here, Jakes decides, or even remember about this strange world. Who wants to go where everything seems to want to kill them?

“Oh, we have more visitors than you would think – despite the memory problem” Morse says.

“How did you –“

“Please, that was just elementary, my dear cowboy.”

He still has no idea how Morse came to give him the nickname, but he chooses to believe that it’s a good sign, that he likes him, even now.

“Here we are” he suddenly announces with a flourish that wouldn’t be unworthy of the Marquis and Jakes blinks. It was night when they arrived, and now it is day, and they are standing in front of –

“Lonsdale college?”

“Or thereabouts” he shrugs, then winks. “We all have our little tricks down here. Come on in.”

He understands that this is where Morse has chosen his abode and feels strangely happy about it. It’s a little link to his past, even if he doesn’t remember it.

As soon as they enter a well-lit room (on the first floor – he doesn’t want to live much higher, it seems, and Jakes decides it’s another thing in their favour) he claps his hands and classical music starts playing.

As idiotic as it is, the fact that he still does listen to it almost makes Jakes cry.

“You don’t have anything against Bach, do you?” he asks. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

The weird thought that Morse is more hospitable now than he ever was Above crosses his mind.

“Sit down” Morse says and he can’t say if the chairs were in front of him all the time or if they only just appeared. Both seems possible.

In no time at all, Morse returns with a miss-matched tea set. “There.”

The tea tastes pleasant, although Jakes can’t say what sort it is and doesn’t dare ask. “What about –“

Morse produces a piece of parchment that truly looks very old out of his leather jacket. “Here.” He passes it to him with a mischievous look on his face, and he quickly learns why as he looks down.

“This is Latin.”

“Ah, so that’s why you applied to the police. So smart.”

“What does it say?” he asks. If they were still in Above, he might feel impatient, but they are not, and Morse is only here because he was trying to do his job – and help DI Thursday, when he thinks about it; and he won’t get angry at him now, when he probably can’t help but be slightly antagonistic towards him.

“You see, apparently there was much more contact between Below and Above – not surprising. I told you we get a lot of visitors, but even so, most of you can’t see us and have trouble to remember we even exist. This speaks of a world when our two homes were working together, trying to do their best to muddle through – and then things… shifted.”

“Shifted?”

“Yes. You see, all that stuff about witchcraft and how it was the work of the devil and how we should just burn anyone we don’t like and call them a witch… Well, and with all of that, it just didn’t seem too good an idea to us to hang around Aboveners much longer.”

“I see.” He actually does. When he forgets that all of this actually took place hundreds of years ago and not, as Morse seems to imply, yesterday.

“They burned one just around the corner from, here” he continues, his voice dropping. “It was in the middle of the night. Maybe they just wanted to light their way home?” and Then he grows unexpectedly serious. “She screamed for a long time. The smoke wasn’t enough to render her unconscious. So I threw in a bag of gun powder.”

He is in the middle of taking a sip and promptly starts coughing and spitting it out. “What –“

“I forgot. You Aboveners are so linear. I was doing the Baron a favour.”

“What Baron?”

“The one who lives in a train” he says as if that’s an explanation.

It’s not, but there’s nothing Jakes can do about it. “And so the two worlds split apart?”

“Yes, but a few of the old ways remained open. Probably because there was no one who knew them all. Not even Old Saxon, I am ready to bet.” Morse appears thoughtful, and the expression is enough of a reminder of his former self to make the teat taste like ash. “And so now and then… people fall through the cracks. I assume the same happened to your friend.”

“He certainly… fell.” Jakes swallows, then continues, “But there’s something else you should probably know.”

“Of course. I have to know everything.”

“He was already Below when it happened.”

He frowns. “Already Below? He was already – hm – that would make things easier.”

“Easier?”

“I mean it would make it easier for him to cross the barrier and for Below to take him. Also tends to depend on the person. Was he a bit weird?”

“He is eccentric in his habits” Jakes says grimily “but a good –“

“Thanks, that’s what I was asking. My point is – there are many old ways between Above and Below, and it will be a long time until all of them are found, if that is ever the case. And since we don’t know their exact location… But what’s important to know is that they come from a time where Below and Above where part of one world, and therefore people weren’t taken by Below.“

“You are saying if we bring him back Above through one of those old routes, he could be – he could return home?”

He nods. “If he’s still alive. And if he wants to return. And if he’s still sane –“

“I get it.”

“I don’t” Morse says suddenly, looking at him strangely. I simply don’t see how or why – He was – but of course.” He leans back and relaxes. “Now I’ve got it. He was one of you – the coppers the Marquis brought in, wasn’t he? I told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted on it, and then he sent me on a mission to the shepherds. Impossible for anyone else, naturally, but that’s not the point.”

Jakes didn’t like the expression that is slowly stealing over his face one bit. All of a sudden, he feels like a rabbit in front of a snake. That’s not like Morse, not like him at all.

“What is your point?” he eventually dares to ask.

This time he is treated to another sort of grin. The sort that someone would show you as they cut your throat to tell you just how foolish it was of you to walk around at night with all your mines in your pocket. “Here’s the thing, Sergeant Jakes. I may be many things, but I am not a fool.”

He’s sure they didn’t introduce themselves to him when they first met from his perspective, so he must have done his research. “I never said you –“

“And this – all of this – it’s ridiculous. Why would anyone take that many risks for another person? It’s just not done.”

He wants desperately to tell him that Morse himself would be the first to do all of this in order to save someone if he could only remember, but doubts it would lead to anything good.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do. And I want an explanation. Why did you contact me? Why did you follow me without a question? I may not be the Marquis, but even so, I am far from trustworthy.”

And that’s the problem. Jakes trusted him because this is Morse, only he isn’t, not really.

“Come on, or I am not going to help you back home.”

“But you can’t do that! We had a deal!”

“About me finding this” he points at the parchment. “We never said anything about being guided around Below.”

He is right of course, but the Morse Jakes remembers would have never used that as an excuse. “So what do you want?” he asks, resigned. He needs to get back Above, to tell the others what he just learned.

“I want to know the truth.”

“I told you.”

“Come on, so he’s a friend – ”

“Yes!” Jakes all but shouts, leaping up. “You want to know the truth? Fine. For the longest time, I didn’t like him or even trust him much – thought him too weird, too brainy, too much out of this world to be a good copper – but you know what? He is. He truly is. And he is a good friend to boot. He is the glue that holds the station together, and I’ll be damned if I let him rot down here!”

Morse looks at him a little sadly, then. “I am ready to bet” he says softly, everything predatory gone from his expression and voice, “That no one has ever talked about me that way.” He gets up. “Let’s get you back home, then.”

As they are walking, he says quietly, “And I owe you a favour.”

“What for?”

“It’s a dangerous revelation Below – to let someone know they can ask absolutely everything of you as long as they help you achieve your goal, Peter Jakes.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Elsewhere**

_There are a lot of things to learn about Below, it seems, and the kind old woman who took him in spends the next few days, if they can even be called days, quickly bringing him up to speed on what she calls the ways of Below. She tells him he’ll have a better chance of surviving if she does, although he doesn’t allow himself to believe it’s necessary for him to figure out it’s necessary how Below works._

_Old Saxon has offered him a place to sleep for the time being, but he doesn’t want to impose on her too much, and anyway, he keeps telling himself, he is going to return home soon enough._

_Still, since she has been kind to him, he decides to listen to her, and to do his best not to tread on her toes._

_And so he listens._

_First of all, it’s not easy to procure food. Well, that’s not quite true – it’s easy enough to find food,. The trouble is that it’s only very rarely edible, at least for him. Cooked mice and mole skin and glowing mushrooms leave him thinking of Mrs. Thursday’s cooking skills with a sigh more than once; and often, at the end of yet another day where he vainly searched for a way back to Oxford, he comes – well, not home; he is desperately trying to_ go _home – back to Old Saxon and has to rely on her for nourishment._

 _“It’s not as bad as you think it is” she tells him gently one night. “Life Below. I mean, yes, it’s mad and dangerous and scary, but what about Above? There is everything so_ ordinary _there.”_

_Sometimes, he gets the feeling that she knows more about all of this than she lets on. Now is definitely one of those times. “You come from Above too, then?”_

_“Yes. I went here when I was a little girl.” She smiles. “Shortly after Queen Elizabeth’s coronation.”_

_“But she’s only been Queen –“_

_“Oh, I remember, there’s a second Queen Elizabeth, these days… I meant the other one. The Virgin Queen.”_

_He doesn’t know what to say to this so he is silent._

_Another thing he soon notices are the clothes the people wear. They are a mismatch of all historical and contemporary styles and colours, and everyone seems to have their own preferred way of wearing them._

_Morse refuses to let go of his suit._

_He is aware he looks somewhat dishevelled. He may be nothing but an Abovener, but if that means he has to wear his dirty suit, so be it._

_He is soon a well-known figure near Old Saxon’s abode. For what it’s worth, the people of Below seem to like him, while being wary of him. Not that he minds. He’s not looking for friends._

_He’s looking for a way out of here._

_Time, Morse soon learns, passes differently in Below than in the Oxford he knows. He can’t tell how long he is been here, if it’s been that long at all. Maybe it’s still the same day for those Above. Maybe it’s been hundreds of years. The thought doesn’t help, so he does his best to dismiss it._

_He just has to find a way._

_But Old Saxon hasn’t been Above, as she insists on calling it, in a very long time, and she has forbidden him from taking advantage of any of the guides who offer their services – not safe, according to her; Morse would just end up dying more quickly than he would if he tried it on his own._

_But there are other ways. Try as she might, Old Saxon can’t shield him from everything; and through the rumours that always seem to be circulating through Below, Morse has heard about the Marquis during the last few markets. He usually helps Old Saxon set up her stall to thank her for looking after him._

_While he knew_ of _him before – while he knew that Thursday certainly doesn’t like him, and that everyone seems wary of him – he didn’t know what he is capable of._

_If anyone can bring him home, it’s the Marquis._

_And so, at the next market – taking place in Belfast, apparently – he leaves Old Saxon despite her protests and walks along the stalls, hoping to meet him._

_And he does._

_He’s standing next to the stall of the mushroom people. Their food, Old Saxon told him, should only ever be eaten well cooked, and in accordance with that, the Marquis is currently inspecting it for any spores that may be left._

_“Marquis de Carabas” he says, stepping up to him._

_He turns around slowly, then studies him. “Constable Morse.”_

_“You remember me, then.”_

_He chuckles. “Quite well.”_

_“I want to get back Above.”_

_“Ah. Now don’t we all.”_

_No they don’t. Morse, to his surprise, has found that most people Below seem to prefer the shadows to the light, madness to sanity, confusion to clarity._

_“Can you help me? I would owe you the biggest of –“_

_“I see Old Saxon has been a good teacher” he says casually. “But I won’t accept,”_

_“What do you mean, you don’t? Once I am back Above, I could –“_

_“You are not returning to Above, Constable.” And then, to his surprise, he looks actually sincere as he says, “I am sorry.”_

_“Yes I will” Morse tells him stubbornly. “And if you won’t help me, I will have to find a way myself.”_

_Later, he will often think of the almost pain-filled look the Marquis bestows on him as an answer._

* * *

 

_During the next Market, a fight breaks out a few stalls away from Old Saxon’s. Morse, who by now has heard enough stories about what happens to those who break the truce, is between the two tall men in an instant. “Stay calm.” He gets out of one of their fists just in time and hisses, “Think of the Truce!!!”_

_None of the others have dared interfere because they don’t want to risk being known as Truce breakers themselves, and as the two remember and reconcile, he sees a few appreciative glances thrown his way._

_At least, he thinks wryly, they seem to respect him here more than anyone at the station did when he first arrived._

**Oxford**

Morse brings him back Above. Just as he’s telling Jakes goodbye, a squeaking sound makes them look down.

“Ah, Mistress Longtails” Morse says. “This is Sergeant Peter Jakes.”

He finds himself bowing to the rat.

Morse leans down and allows her to jump on his hand. “I feel honoured you would come to me, Mistress.”

It’s an odd choice of words, but what does Jakes know?

As Morse walks away without looking back, he could swear that he feels two beady eyes still fixed on him from the rat’s place on his former colleague’s palm.

He still remembers to put the car battery and the sweater on his window sill that night. They are gone the next morning.

* * *

 

“So there is a way?”

Jakes shrugs. “He seems to think so. He wasn’t very enthusiastic about it, but…” he trails off. There’s no need to explain further how Morse acted in a very unlike Morse manner for a bit. It would only make things worse. The Old Man is almost tearing up the station as it is.

“I still can’t believe you actually cut a door into a wall” Strange says with wide eyes.

“Maybe what Beatrice said…” Trewlove begins. “Follow the rats? Perhaps that’s one of the ols ways. At least it sounds old to me.”

Granted, that it does. But since none of them have any idea how or why even –

Superintendent Bright – who seems a surprisingly tight grasp of the facts, most of the time; at least Jakes has yet to see him confused when they talk about Morse, which is more than he can say about the rest of them, himself included  – nods. “It does seem rather… archaic. And, if you will permit ne the quip, like something Morse would look into.”

_Something Morse would look into._

That’s one of the things that’s the most difficult to comprehend. Without Morse, many of the cases Jakes remembers them solving are still open. It’s not just Mary Tremlett’s killer who has escaped justice. Mason Gull made a successful escape, no one was arrested after that murder in the arms factory, and so many other cases that were never closed...

It’s hard to believe that one man can make such a difference, but it’s Morse. Anything is possible when it comes to him, Jakes learned that long ago.

That, at least, hasn’t changed.

Thursday at least appears somewhat more relaxed than he did the last few weeks, but again, that’s not saying much, considering how awful he looked when he first remembered.

He says it was a recording of Puccini that did it.

Which reminds Jakes. Bach. Morse was playing Bach. Granted, it’s classical music, but it’s not opera, and opera has always been what he likes the most, right? Not that he’s paid much attention to it – he’s always had more contemporary tastes when it comes to music himself – but still.

He wonders if there’s any significance behind this. Normally he would say no, but it’s Morse they are talking about.

Even if he calls himself by a name he used to hate, these days.

* * *

 

He has to force himself to eat his sandwiches; he has to force himself to eat, period. The thought that Morse is out there somehow struggling through Below is enough to put him off his appetite.

He’s rather certain he would already have keeled over from sheer exhaustion and lack of food if it were not for Win, who insist he has a meal on a regular basis and makes him go to bed at a reasonable time.

They rarely speak of Morse, but the opera music usually drifting through the house when he comes home tells him enough.

If anything can bring him home, it’s probably this. Music and crosswords and other puzzles to solve.

Sometimes, he lies awake at night, haunted by the Marquis words.

_About ten years of your time. And it was seven of those before Below took him. A bit of a stubborn streak, you know._

Ten years. They lost him almost four weeks ago, but Morse has already spent ten years Below.

And what did he mean that it took seven of those years for… it to take him? Does it mean that for seven years, he struggled on, still remembering, still hoping to go home, and then…

It’s almost too much to deal with. Almost. But he does, because he owes it to Morse. He’s the one who brought him Below; he’s the one who has to get him out of this.

First, he takes stock of everything he knows about the strange world it’s so difficult to remember, and it’s precious little. He has had his run-ins with those below, that is true; in fact he’s maybe made more contact with them than most people simply because he’s a policeman – and one who’s always been ready to get at the very bottom of every case in order to solve it at that; but still.

And yet – and yet. He doesn’t really know much about this crazy other dimension, or whatever it bloody well is supposed to be. He knows the Marquis, or at least knows who and what he is. He knows that it’s incredibly dangerous. He knows that he got more than a little lucky a couple of times when he should have perished, and that this world has its own rules, but other than that, he usually looked the other way because it was easier.

And now Morse is stuck there because of him. Because he took him with when he shouldn’t have, because Morse tried to help him, because Thursday thought safety in numbers would protect them.

He should have known that nothing could protect you Below.

“Fred” Win gently admonishes him, slipping a glass of brandy into his hands. He managed to get through dinner alright, but ever since Joan went upstairs, he’s got lost in his head again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. All I meant was that this isn’t helping, and that Morse wouldn’t want you to torture yourself,”

He sighs, remembering Jakes’ words. “He really would call me out on it, wouldn’t he.”

“And from what Jakes told you – I think he’s still in there” she says firmly.

“Sounds like it.” The one comfort he took from Jakes story – after admonishing him for just walking into Below as if it was no big thing. “At least he brought him back safe, and that’s more than I would have expected from most of them.”

“There you have it” she says as if that decides things, and maybe, just maybe, it does.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Oxford**

Thursday keeps on the look-out for rats. There must be a reason Beatrice told Strange, and even if it should just happen to be an old saying… they do have a talent to become true in Below, don’t they?

As it turns out, there is a surprising number of rats in Oxford. He’s never paid attention to them before – why should he have? – but there they are, rats of all sizes and colours, slinking around in the shadows, nibbling at garbage, fleeing cats.

None of them appear to be any different from normal rats, but what does he know?

A few weeks into just looking at them, it occurs to him that the rat speakers Below actually talk to them. Granted, he doesn’t think he could understand them even if they chose to answer, but at least it’s a plan.

And so, one evening after dinner when he goes to out the bin out, he finds a rat running away and just acts. “Hey, wait!”

And to his surprise, it actually stops and turns to look at him. Or maybe it’s just fascinated by the sound of a human voice that’s not out for its blood. There is a good chance that Fred is going insane, after all.

“There is…” he begins, then stops, and takes a deep breath. “I know that normally, people don’t remember Below, or talk to you about it, not here. Yet you may have heard… my sergeant went down there only a short while ago, and…” He stops and thinks for a moment, then continues. “There’s someone down there right now who is very dear to me. You might know him as Endeavour… You probably do know him as Endeavour. But back when he lived here, we called him Morse. I am trying to bring him home, and I just need to know that he’s safe until I do. Beatrice – you might know her too – she said we ought to follow the rats, to find one of the old ways down we heard about, but I don’t know what that means. Still, I am not giving up.”

The rat’s ear twitches, and then –

“Dad? Who are you talking to?”

He sighs as the rat scuttles away.

“No one, Joanie.”

It’s easy to tell that she doesn’t believe him, but there are more important issues he has to deal with.

**Elsewhere**

How unforgiving those shepherds are, Endeavour reflects as he returns home. This was a close call even by his standards. They almost succeeded! He really can’t afford to let himself get distracted.

He slips out of the ruined leather jacket and spends about an hour transferring every little keepsake in it to an almost identical one he has in his closet. Really, mostly it’s just annoying. They should by now know better than to attack him, even if he did break their staff.

The music playing through the room, as is often the case, tends to change when he doesn’t concentrate, and he realizes with irritation that suddenly he’s listening to _Manon Lescaut_. For some reason, he can’t abide Puccini, never has, at least as far as he can remember.

A clap, and it’s back to Wagner. Endeavour takes a deep breath. He doesn’t like feeling irritated. It reminds him of things he can’t truly remember, things he’d rather not think about.

Oh well. A cup of tea, and he won’t contemplate them any longer.

And then a squeak.

He turns. “Mistress Longtails!” He really is far from sorry from seeing her again; he quite likes the rats, when they don’t try to give him advice. He knows Below quite well, he doesn’t need anyone telling him what to do.

He kneels down. “I have some cheese in –“

She surprises him with a decisive squeak. No cheese? No need to offer her some refreshment? That’s a first. Intrigued, he leans closer. “What can I do for you?”

A quick succession of noises and whistles soon tells him that she thinks she can do something for him – and that she seems to be slightly worried, although he can’t tell what about, exactly.

Still, it’s something new, and Endeavour always likes that. He abhors feeling bored, always has, that he can remember.

“An Abovener? You say he wants to talk to me?”

The rat nods.

“Alright, no need to sound so panicked… hm. An Abovener. Who would have thought” he muses. Aboveners are quite amusing, really. They close their eyes to anything they don’t want to see, and then they act surprised when strange things happen. Usually.

Peter Jakes seems to be an exception, but he assumed he was the only one.

But if this one knows enough top speak to rats, who really are one of the few species it is worth talking to in Oxford Above and Below… “So who is it?”

She explains and he frowns. Another one of those who the Marquis called down Below? He’s starting to think that was a tactical mistake.

“The Old Man? How interesting…”

**Oxford**

It happens after another conference with Max DeBryn. The doctor, after hearing a few notes of _Un Bel Di_ , almost immediately remembered Morse and has since been working on collecting every story and rumour that has ever filtered through about Below, not an easy task considering most don’t remember it exists.

It seems Endeavour has made quite the name for himself, at least from what they can tell.

“He really appears to be somewhat – well – to have become the police from Below. Which doesn’t mean that he doesn’t make bargains now and then, but we know that from Jakes” he explains dryly. “By the way, Inspector, if I may suggest something – I’d rather keep the others in Above, at least as long as we don’t know for sure we have a way to return.”

“I know” he sighs. What Jakes did was reckless, but also incredibly brave. Until lately, he could have e sworn he didn’t even like Morse much.

“Don’t worry, Inspector. If there is someone who can jump between the worlds, it would be him.”

It’s the one thing he clings to.

When he exits the station, it’s already dark. He’s sent Jakes home since he looked exhausted, and so has to drive himself home. Not that he minds.

He likes to be alone with his thoughts, from time to time.

However, tonight, it’s not to be.

For as he turns on the motor, someone slips into the car.

And a voice he has heard so often, a voice he knows almost as well as his own, a voice he’s listened to as it deduced and ranted and solved countless problems, but one that he’s never known to take on this slightly threatening tone when talking to him, says “I heard someone’s been curious.”

**Elsewhere – a few weeks and ten years ago**

**_The Market is sacred. It’s a rule not even the Marquis has dared break, and that’s saying something._ **

**_He should have known the shepherds would eventually grow tired of that._ **

**_They almost captured him, once. He and DI Thursday and (to his chagrin) Peregrine barely made it out._ **

**_He knows something bad is happening as soon as he sees the staff. No, that’s not true. A shepherd on the Market would not be cause for concern. But twelve of them at once? Twelve’s a magical number. And normally they are all busy with their respective flocks._ **

**_This is not good._ **

**_He decides it will be best to wait this one out and is about to dramatically disappear – he has to keep up appearances, after all – when a hand is laid on his arm. “Sorry, mein Herr Marquis, but I am going to need your help.”_ **

**_“And here I thought” he answers, looking straight into Endeavour’s eyes, “That you best work alone.”_ **

**_“Who told you that? It certainly wasn’t me” he explains with an excited gleam in his eyes, “Come on, it will be fun.”_ **

**_“I hardly see how –“_ **

**_“It won’t be boring then, old scoundrel, and that’s more than I can say about most things. Let’s go.”_ **

**_Some people have already noticed them conferring. To leave now would mean to lose face, and he can’t afford that, as Endeavour well knows, so he has to follow him._ **

**_He quickly realizes what the shepherds are doing._ **

**_Recruitment drive. Apparently they are no longer happy with simply ensnaring anyone who comes into their dominion; no, they already have –_ **

**_“Wow, they actually managed to get some of the mushroom people. Didn’t think that was possible. Must have found some new magical item to make it so” Endeavour says matter-of-factly as he checks the pockets of his leather jacket for something. “Ah, there it is.”_ **

**_He pulls out the battered and bruised remains of what looks like some kind of ID._ **

**_“What is that?” he asks immediately. The more he can learn about this man (he is reasonably sure he is, or at least used to be, a man) the better._ **

**_For the first time since he met him, he looks uncomfortable. “It’s an ID. The picture and the name has been lost to the ages, I am afraid.”_ **

**_“And what does it do?”_ **

**_“Now why should I tell you that?”_ **

**_“Because you are normally frank enough, which means it’s worth knowing.”_ **

**_“Sometimes you are too clever for your own good.”_ **

**_“Haven’t you carved a career for yourself out of that?”_ **

**_He sighs. “You are right, old scoundrel. Not that I like it, but you are right.” He looks at the ID. “I don’t know why, but this helps me keeps my wits about me. Doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it’s important.”_ **

**_That is really interesting, he will grant him that._ **

**_“Do you have anything you believe in?”_ **

**_“Believe in?”_ **

**_He shrugs. “It’s as good a description as any, wouldn’t you say?”_ **

**_Probably. The Marquis has never wondered how to shield himself from the shepherds, since he didn’t think it was possible, and he has made a habit of not believing in anything._ **

**_It makes things easier. Usually._ **

**_“I’ll have to believe for both of us, then. Come on.” Endeavour looks around. “Peregrine isn’t here. Oh well, I prefer you, anyway.”_ **

**_There’s a strangely touching element in that, but he doesn’t examine it too closely._ **

**_Endeavour strides towards the group, the ID in his hands. “Look at that – shepherds on the Market. And twelve of you at once!”_ **

**_One of them glares at him. “Look, it’s the police.” Endeavour’s grin only grows brighter. “The busy-body.” He laughs. “The fixer.”_ **

**_“Oh my, you are being very entertaining today” he says. “Now, would you mind telling us why you are breaking the Market Truce?”_ **

**_“We are not. We are simply asking people to join our flock. We are not fighting” the one with the biggest staff points out, but Endeavour just shakes his head._ **

**_“You think simply because you harm people’s minds and not their bodies, it’s not breaking the Truce?” he turns to the Marquis. “What do you think?”_ **

**_“I think it counts.”_ **

**_He huffs. “So you two are ganging up on us?”_ **

**_“More like team-ing up. Two people can hardly be called a gang.”_ **

**_“There’s me too” Old Saxon pipes up behind them, and as always, there’s a strange wistfulness in her face as she looks at Endeavour, as if she’s looking for something she lost._ **

**_Oh well. He doesn’t have the time to think about it now._ **

**_“Why don’t you join us? The shepherd asks and the Marquis feels just how reasonable the proposal is. After all, if they were to join –_ **

**_“No thank you” Endeavour says, and whatever hold they had over him shatters. “None of us are interested. I am sure you are not, either?” he asks the mushroom people who have been following the shepherds around and they blink._ **

**_“Yes, what about the mushroom?” the Marquis joins in. “What about your precious symbiosis?”_ **

**_Suddenly, they look scandalized that they even contemplated leaving it behind and scuttle off._ **

**_The shepherd looks angry as he fixes Endeavour with a glare. “You –“_ **

**_“Please, just leave. You are annoying me.”_ **

**_And to the Marquis’ surprise, they do._ **

**_When they are gone, Endeavour shakes his head. “You really have to pay attention to everything around here, don’t you.”_ **

**_And yet, he sounds as if he’s having fun._ **

**_At least they have someone who looks after them, now. The Marquis supposes that, all things considered, that’s far from bad news._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about time, wouldn't you say? ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

_Morse does his best to stay sane. It’s not always easy. Nothing is easy Below, and to try and do anything even remotely normal is especially maddening because it soon becomes clear that what is considered normal in the Oxford he comes from is either thought of as extremely eccentric or downright foolish here._

_For example, money has no worth in Below. It’s all bargaining and trading favours and having to understand what a big favour is compared to a small one when he is not aware of the difference at all._

_Old Saxon is patient with him. She explains to him again and again that, while it may seem like an easy way out, one should always think before promising a favour. “You don’t know what they’ll ask of you.”_

_He frowns. They are drinking tea in her tower; by now he’s got used to ignoring the view. “Surely, no one would ask for something they know I cannot do?”_

_She sighs. “Most wouldn’t._ I _wouldn’t. But then you have those who don’t think your life is a big thing to take away, like the Lamia, or someone like the Marquis, and, well…” she trails off._

_He doesn’t like to think of the Marquis de Carabas. Him telling Morse that he will never get home is a memory he doesn’t want to revisit._

_“What I am trying to say is, be careful when speaking to him.”_

_“I have no intention of doing so in the near future.”_

_She gives him one of her looks again then, those looks that make him think she knows more, much more than she lets on, but won’t disclose it for reasons he cannot name._

_“I should probably look for lodgings” he finally admits, a tone of defeat in his voice. When he first arrived, he thought he would only have to intrude on Old Saxon’s hospitality for a few days; but it’s been we – mo – it’s been a while, and he’s nowhere near getting back Above._

_“You can stay as long as you want to” she says firmly._

_“I know that” he assures her, “But you know, me and heights…” He smiles wryly. It’s utterly ridiculous that he has problems with his acrophobia in a place that is literally called Below, but then most things in Below are ridiculous._

_“Ah yes.” She lights up and all but skips to the window. For someone born in the Virgin Queen’s time, she is still remarkably fit. “I have always loved it. It relaxes me. It’s a pity such beauty should be hidden from your view.” After a pause she adds, “It might also be a good idea to keep something like it to remind you of Above.”_

_“I don’t need any reminders” he tells her. He thinks about his home constantly, worrying about DI Thursday and the others and whether they are looking for him or have indeed forgotten about him, wondering if this means his flat is gone, feeling nostalgic for the most ridiculous of things, like fish and chips actually_ consisting _of fish and chips._

_“If you say so. But never forget who you were, Morse. It’s important so you know who you will become.”_

_It’s one of those things she loves to tell him. He supposes living Below for so long has made her a little eccentric. In his eyes, it’s a compliment – most people he’s met so far are much,_ much _worse than just eccentric._

_Still, most have been helpful when he’s approached them at the Market. They seem to pity him, and on some days, it’s difficult not to despise them for it. The problem is, apart from the Marquis, the one who seems to know most routes Above is Velvet, and he won’t let her draw his warmth again._

_And yet – he will find a way. If only because he has to._

* * *

 

_His first case in Below – if he doesn’t count separating the two men at the Market – presents itself quite unexpectedly._

_He’s walking down – well, he supposes he would call it a street if he were still in his part of Oxford; Old Saxon has asked him to bring a small box to a friend of hers, with strict instructions not to open it._

_It’s near said friend’s cave that he stumbles across the body._

_It’s a young white man wearing a cloak made out of feathers, it appears. There’s a pool of blood next to him that’s rapidly spreading, and Morse swallows, then forces himself to breathe._

_It’s not a Market day, but that doesn’t mean murder is not a crime Below, or at least is not regarded as a rather bad habit by most of the population._

_Knowing that it could take days for anyone to come for the body, he finishes his errant, then goes back to it._

_Another stab victim. Knives are the weapon of choice in Below, he has already learned. He kneels down and does his best to block out the smell._

_“What happened here?” a smooth voice asks and he looks up to see his (probably) least favourite person Below._

_“It wasn’t me” he tells the Marquis._

_“Oh, I know that. You would never do anything that would risk your return Above, and having someone after you because you killed someone would hinder your little search.”_

_“Is there something I can do for you, Marquis?” he asks wearily. He knows that logically, it doesn’t make sense to dislike him for telling him what he considers the truth, but so it is._

_“I just thought you might want another pair of eyes” he says simply, looking down at him and the body. “After all, this is a murder enquiry, I suppose.”_

_And Morse could just walk away from it all. But good police man or not, he is still a detective, and this is his job, the things he’s good at._

_“It was probably a surprise attack” he says, leaning closer, a part of him surprised that the blood doesn’t bother him quite as much as before._

_“Was it?” the Marquis asks casually._

_He sighs. He supposes it’s better than talking to himself._

**Oxford**

Thursday swallows as he takes Morse – as he takes Endeavour in. Jakes told him that it’s easy to forget this is not their colleague, and indeed – even with the strange clothes, he still looks like Morse, with that inquisitive look ion his eyes; but the smile betrays him, that condescending, mischievous smile he’d never have seen on his bagman’s face.

“Heard you were interested in me, decided I should pay you a visit” he says, happily studying the car. “I wish we had things like that down Below, but there’s just the Baron’s train.”

And God alone knows where that comes from.

He clears his throat. “Yes. We are trying to –“

“I know, I know, save a collage, blah blah blah. Really, with that, the fact that you remember him even though Below took him, and Peter’s monologue I’d really like to meet him. Must be special.”

“He is” he says shortly. Then a thought occurs to him. “Wait. Why can I see you if we are –“

“Oh, first of all, like I said, you seem to be a special case, and then, I have the freedom of the Underside. The Baron bestowed it on me after I…” he trails off, looking confused, then remembers. “After I slew the Beast.”

Slaying beasts. Making deals. Trading favours. What have they done to him? “And that works for Above too?”

“Well, it seems to, and sometimes it’s better not to question things” he shrugs.

They probably made him not care, the bastards.

“So. Any questions _you_ have for me, Inspector?”

“I thought you had some.”

“You’d be surprised by what one can learn of people by listening to what they’re wondering about, Old Man.”

Good God. He just called him _Old Man._ There are risks involved, Thursday knows that, but still… “When did you arrive in Oxford?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When did you arrive in Oxford – or rather Below?” he repeats. “Knowing how time works, or doesn’t work, there, I assume it can be anything from – oh, I don’t know, ten years to four weeks ago.”

“I –“ he looks thoroughly confused. “I’ve been there for a while.”

“Yes, but –“

And then it all goes wrong.

Thursday always listens to classical music in the car now, and he’s started to recognize some pieces. _Tu, tu piccolo iddio_ from Madame Butterfly starts drifting through the speakers, and he’s shocked and Endeavour screws his eyes shut and presses his hands over his ears.

“Turn that off!” he hisses. “For God’s sake, man, turn it off!”

He sounds as if he’s in pain, and Thursday hastens to comply.

Morse only relaxes after another moment or two. Then, he turns to Thursday, and the fire in his eyes is enough to make his blood run cold. “Did you know?” he demands. “Did – did you _know_?”

“Know what?” he asks, completely at a loss. Maybe he remembers the Mary Tremlett case, but even after that, he was able to listen to his records of Rosalind Calloway, so –

“I hate Puccini” he tells him vehemently, “Can’t stand his music.”

That’s the most surprising thing that has come out of his mouth since Below took him. Thursday blinks. “But you like other classical music?”

He nods. “Oh yes, Inspector. Mozart, Wagner, Bach – I just cannot abide –“ he gestures towards the radio. “That.”

Something must have happened. Isn’t it ironic that he cannot stand the very music that brought their memories of him back. “I see.”

“So” he suddenly says, slumping back into his seat as if nothing has happened, “That colleague of yours. Any chance I know him?”

“I don’t think so” he says carefully.

“You can’t know that! I know most people Below.” A pause. “Unless he’s already dead.”

 _Yes,_ Thursday thinks, _unless he is already dead and gone and there is no chance we can get him back._

“That’s always a possibility, you know” he confides in him, not knowing that every word feels like a stab in Thursday’s gut. “Most people who slip through the cracks don’t make it for very long. Below can be a dangerous place.” One of his more manic grins appears on his face. “That’s part of the fun.”

Fun. Yes, he looks like he’s having fun, when he’s not having a breakdown because of _Madame Butterfly_ ; but still – there is something missing behind his eyes, and this time, Thursday isn’t thinking about the recognition that should be there but isn’t. No, he’s thinking of something – something much more unique to Morse, his _Morseness_ , so to speak. It’s as if part of it has gone missing, and he can only hope that it’s hiding deep within instead of having been removed altogether, never to be seen again.

And really. _Fun_. With everything that’s going on in Below…

“You don’t have to agree. I know Aboveners tend not to like it much.”

Thursday wonders what Morse made of Below before it took him. How he came by, where he lived, what he ate. Seven years the Marquis said. Seven years of scrambling about, not aging, searching for a way home, the place tearing, chipping away at him until he woke up one day and didn’t know where he came from or what he was looking for anymore.

His hands ball into fists.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult” Endeavour says frankly and he forced himself to calm down.

“I know. I just don’t like the thought of him – it’s difficult” he admits.

And then, there’s a flicker in his wide eyes. It’s gone so quickly Thursday would think he only imagined it if he didn’t follow it up with, “He means a lot to you. I think to Peter Jakes, too. But especially to you.”

“He does.” Has, ever since Thursday took him under his wing.

And look where that got him, he thinks bitterly.

Endeavour looks aware. “For what it’s worth, Inspector… If I were in his shoes, I would be glad to know that you are looking for me.”

He wants to answer wants to reply, wants to try and coax more like this out of him, things that sound like Morse, but he blinks and Endeavour’s gone. The radio is playing again.

And yet, Thursday’s heart feels lighter.

Because now he knows with absolutely certainty.

Morse is still in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to ask, but... I know it's going to be a difficult day for me, so comments, please?


	12. Chapter 12

**Elsewhere**

This didn’t go as he planned.

But why, oh why, did he have to listen to Puccini?

When pressed, Endeavour likes to proclaim that it just makes him uneasy, but he’s always been aware that his real reaction to his music is closer to what the Aboveners would call panic and fear.

Not that he would ever admit to openly betraying either. He has an image to maintain, and God only knows what would happen if the Marquis ever heard.

That said, he has the feeling his secret is safe with DI Thursday. Which is surprising, considering he doesn’t make a habit of trusting people.

He is strolling down the banks of the river. Not the one from Above, of course, the original one, the one that cut through the landscape long before the first humans ever set foot there. It has always calmed him down.

He really has to learn more about that colleague they are all so desperate to save, he decides. Anyone who can cause such a reaction is worth knowing.

A soft rustling sound has him act quickly, and a second later, a man he knows very well indeed is lying on the ground in front of him, Endeavour divesting him of his knife. “Up to the old tricks, Nerris?”

He squints up at him. “One of these days.”

“I don’t think so:”

Nerris has been after him ever since he foiled his attempt to steal the Baron’s treasure – which he has not bothered to tell anyone consists of his library and one or two bars of gold. Even Endeavour had to find out for himself.

He throws the knife in the river and walks on. Nerris always leaves after one try. He might be stupid, but he’s not an idiot.

Where was he?

Ah yes. That amazing policeman everyone seems so desperate to save.

It’s strange he’s never heard of him. After all, this means that he came down with them when the Marquis called them for help because Endeavour wasn’t available – either that or had conveniently been sent away, he is not entirely sure yet, one hardly ever is with the Marquis – and then he must have been taken.

So how come he didn’t even hear rumours about it? Rumours are the bread and butter of Below. Normally he can’t step out of his home without hearing at least three big lies, one exaggeration of the truth and two slanders within ten minutes.

And don’t get him started on the Market.

There is someone who knows everything that is going on Below, of course – apart from endeavour himself and possibly Old Saxon, but as much as he likes her, he knows she doesn’t always tell him what he needs to hear.

Still. It seems he has to speak to the Marquis.

* * *

 

Endeavour developed the knack of finding him soon after he rifest arrived in Below. It’s always a good idea to know what he’s up to.

And so he walks slowly towards the basilisk field. The teeth are worth a lot, and the Marquis is never one to say no to easily obtained cash.

Easy for him and Endeavour, at any rate.

Yes, there he is, currently extracting a tooth from a rather angry-looking basilisk that’s been chained to the floor and is currently trying very much to fix him with its deadly stare.

The trick is to let it just sweep over you without really taking you in. Not many people know that, and even fewer are ready to try.

Endeavour simply walks between the basilisks, who really are not that bad once you get the hang of it. “Monsieur le Marquis.”

“Endeavour. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

They both pretend he doesn’t know even though the very thought is ridiculous. “I want information.”

“That’s going to cost.”

“You don’t know I’m about to ask yet” he points out.

“No, but if you come to find me only because you have a question it means it must be quite a difficult one”.

“It’s not” he says. It’s the truth. There is nothing difficult about the question. Nothing at all. The difficult part is figuring out why he doesn’t know anything about this. “I just come from Above.”

“Oh? Were you after records again?” he asks casually, extracting another tooth. The basilisk roars.

“No. I was speaking to a police officer.”

The Marquis’ hands still for a second, short enough that no one else would notice. But Dndeavour does. “So? A police man?”

“Yes. The one you brought here the other day – DI Thursday? You remember?”

He stands up, pocketing the teeth, his smile too bright and too open to be genuine. “Of course I remember Fred. We’ve been through a few scrapes together.”

“Not since I’ve met you.”

“You would be surprised.”

“He’s looking for someone. A colleague of his that got lost. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately then he says, with fake surprise, “An Oxford policeman? Lost in Below?”

“Alright, what is it going to cost me?” he sighs. There is no bargaining with him when he is in this mood.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a first” he answers for lack of anything else to say.

“What I mean, my friend, is that it’s not going to cost you anything because I won’t be giving you any information pertaining this case.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everything has its price with you. Come on, Marquis; there has to be something –“

“No, Endeavour.”

He’s never looked at him like this before, and his voice has never sounded so brittle, either.

There’s something in his eyes, something he can’t read, and that confuses him. Since when doesn’t he know what the Marquis is thinking? “But why?”

“Because you can’t know. Because you mustn’t.”

“That’s never stopped you before” he points out, exasperated.

“Exactly. But there’s also never been someone I would call a –“ he stops  talking abruptly and then leaves without another word.

Endeavour can feel the basilisk’s gaze on him. “I don’t know either” he tells it, sounding, he is afraid, rather sulky.

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

_The body is not yet cold, but according to the Marquis and from what Morse remembers of Thursday’s explanations of Below, this doesn’t have to mean anything. The murder could have taken place a day or a year ago, and it still wouldn’t have happened before yesterday because time moves so strangely here._

_At least he can comfort himself with the thought that this might mean he hasn’t been gone from oxford long._

_“This was one decisive blow with a  sharp knife” he says, feeling queasy. The Marquis has refused top come too close since he doesn’t want blood on his coat._

_Morse figures a few more stains won’t make any difference when it comes to his suit, but still – he wished Doctor DeBryn was here._

_“So – this is what you do? It appears to me to be rather simple” The Marquis drawls and Morse squints up at him, any thought of being careful lost in his annoyance._

_“I am doing my best here! I don’t have a medical examiner, or any way to examine the evidence –“_

_“You have your eyes, Constable. We’ve always found that rather enough here in Below.”_

_Of course they have. Who needs a police force when it is difficult enough to survive each day? Morse sighs. “Do you have any idea who he is?”_

_“Why do you think I would know?”_

_“Because you seem to be the kind of person who does.”_

_The Marquis grins. “You’ve already figured that out? Excellent. Seems there are more reasons than Old Saxon’s help for you still being alive.”_

_“If you say so” Morse says tiredly. He wonders if he is ever truly being serious. “Now, the victim –“_

_“Oh, that’s Ernie.”_

_“Ernie?” He ‘s grown used to rather stranger names around here._

_“He was a bit eccentric. Also a thief.”_

_Morse isn’t quite sure what to make of thieves, here. Some people seem to despise them more than they do murderers, others apparently think it’s a respectable career choice. “It might be that one of his victims didn’t like –“_

_“Oh, not a common thief, Constable. He could steal eggs away from under a hen. A bit of a waste, really; I employed him several times. He was discreet. But I always warned him about being too cocky.” The Marquis shakes his head. “Hubris. An all too common fault.”_

_“But not one of yours, I presume” Morse says, getting up._

_He bestows another grin on him. “Exactly. I have often thanked the Gods that I am humility incarnated.”_

_“We need to find out what he was trying to steal” Morse decides._

_“Nothing easier than that. There’s a Market tonight. The rumour mill must be fed.”_

_“So you are going to help me?”_

_He spreads out his arms. “We cannot have people just randomly getting stabbed around here. There has to be some method to the madness.”_

_At least that sounds just sensible enough to be true._

_Which means it’s probably a lie._

* * *

 

_As usual – and a part of him worries about the fact that there is a “usual” now – he helps Old Saxon set up her stall._

_“Be careful with the Marquis” she warns him after he’s told her what he’s about to do. “He can as easily sell you out as help you.”_

_“I know, but I can’t do this all by myself.”_

_“Oh, Morse” she sighs, looking slightly upset for reasons he can’t understand. “Just be careful, please.”_

_He promises her and leaves._

_By now, people know him well enough to greet him. It makes it easier to start a conversation._

_While everything in Below has a price, it soon becomes clear that most consider hearing about Ernie’s death enough of a recompensation to tell Morse all they know. It seems like he_ did _steal more expensive things than eggs from under hens occasionally and not everyone appreciated his craftmanship._

_“Heard he’d gone slightly mad with power” the smith called Smith tells Morse. “And that he wanted to steal the most beautiful jewel in Below.”_

_That’s something, at least, although he has no idea how or where to find it._

_The Marquis knows, of course. He’s suddenly standing next to Morse and whistles. “The Dragon’s saphire? How foolishly ambitious.”_

_“Dragon?” Morse asks. He somehow didn’t think they’d go around stabbing people._

_“Oh, you know, they’re not really big lizards. They are just tall. And nasty. And they hoard treasure” the Marquis says._

_Naturally._

_And that is how Morse and someone who called himself after a figure in a fairy tale end up in a cave. He wasn’t aware that this part of below even existed, but then, why should he be surprised? He’s searched gar and wide for a way up, and it just seemed to go on forever._

_Morse has so far refused to arm himself, but this time he didn’t have a choice, and he bought a knife from Smith using his watch. He was fascinated by the mechanics, and he promised him a favour too._

_“This is excellent work” the Marquis says, studying the knife. “He didn’t take nearly as much care with my own.”_

_And Morse bets there was a good reason for it, too._

_“We won’t kill him” he says firmly._

_The dragon in question – the last one in Below – is male and goes by the name of Smaug – probably his idea of a joke._

_The Marquis looks at him. “No?”_

_“No. The Baron has a dungeon, doesn’t he?”_

_It’s the closest he’ll get to actually putting someone into prison._

_“And he is still angry at Smaug for torching his train a few years ago.”_

_“I thought he’s not –“_

_“You are familiar with the concept of arson, Constable, are you not?”_

_He has to concede the point._

* * *

 

_The dragon, of course, doesn’t go down without a fight. He jumps them as soon as they enter, and the thought that the Marquis only needed him as bait goes through his mind, but then he’s rolling around on the ground trying to fight a seven-feet-tall man and he doesn’t have time to dwell on it._

_“A little help?” he manages to grunt._

_A little while later, he has given up hope, and decides to play unconscious. According to the Marquis, Smaug is not very bright._

_It works. the weight lifts off him._

_When he cracks his eyes open he finds the Marquis and Smaug fighting. It’s enough of a distraction for the dragon for Morse to grab a boulder and bring it down on his head._

_“Did you know” the Marquis asks as he leaps up and checks that Smaug is, indeed, unconscious, “That you were going to hit him and not accidentally knock me out?”_

_“I took a chance.”_

_The Marquis, to his surprise, throws his head back and laughs. “We are a good team, Morse.”_

_He doesn’t answer, but has to admit, if only to himself, that he is not completely wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for leaving comments! I can't thank you enough. They made my day so much easier :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Elsewhere – Four week and ten years ago**

_So far, Morse has never met or even seen the Baron, but he knows that he rides around in a train – that’s what the platforms are for, although most of the time, he’d rather not think about the subject – and that for some reasons, he has a dungeon regardless. People tend to make jokes about it because it’s hardly ever been used, unless the Baron wanted to make a point._

_Well, not anymore._

_They drag a still unconscious Smaug to the next platform, Morse staying well away from the rails. At the beginning, he spent a fruitless day throwing himself on them again and again, hoping that it would somehow return him to Above, or at least back into the somewhat well-groomed Constable he knows (DI Thursday would probably disagree with that last statement) instead of the man with the panic in his eyes and the more and more shabby-looking suit who scuttles about Below._

_“It’s not even that bad an idea.”_

_He turns to look at the Marquis, once more wondering if the man can read his thoughts, but then he continues, “Bring some form of order to Below. Not too much; no, too much order wouldn’t be at all the thing; but just a little bit won’t hurt.”_

_“That’s nice” he says tiredly._

_“Cheer up, Constable; You did a good thing today.”_

_“If the Baron agrees to keep him.”_

_“Oh yes” the Marquis suddenly says, “About that”._

_A roar announces the arrival of the train. Why it has to roar, Morse has no idea, it just does. He’s found that it’s easier when he doesn’t think too much about certain facts. Otherwise he just ends up even more confused than he already is._

_“What?”_

_“The thing is” the Marquis begins as the door is thrown open and a knight peers out._

_“Baron, the newcomer from Above is waiting for an audience” he announces into the train, although Morse can see that it’s full of people and they are making a lot of noise, so how he expects him to hear it is a mystery. “He and the – “ he pales, then shoots them another glance. At the Marquis happy nod, he continues, “He and the Marquis de Carabas have brought an unconscious –“_

_“The Marquis?” a booming voice calls out from inside. “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”_

_“That’s what I meant to tell you” the Marquis says, quite calmly and cheerfully, before Morse is suddenly alone on the platform, trying to prop Smaug up, which is rather difficult task._

_“He has vanished, sire” the knight reports and the booming voice calls out, “Again? Ah, there is always next time. What about the Abovener?”_

_“He is still there with –“_

_“My prisoner” Morse hastens to say, “He has killed Ernie, the thief.”_

_After the knight repeats what he has said, the baron yells for him to enter the train, and he does so._

_He might have seen many strange sights since he arrived, but a whole medieval court in a train compartment must still rank among the craziest, he will later think._

_The knight generously helps him carrying Smaug in front of the Baron, an enormously fat man who reminds him of the depictions of Old King Cole he has seen over the years._

_“Ah. I see. Smaug the dragon. Killed someone, you say?”_

_“Yes. Ernie the thief” he repeats._

_He hums. “Well. It’s not that much of a shame, although he had his uses.”_

_“Yes, but – sire” he says, “He ought to be punished.”_

_“You think so?” he asks, apparently genuinely interested in such a novel thought. “In that case, my hangman could –“_

_“Oh no sire, please. We don’t want to stoop to his level.”_

_“You think so?” he repeats. “By ye gods, what_ has _Above come to?”_

_“We find that locking them away for a time does help” Morse says firmly._

_“Locking them…” he says, then blinks. “Oh you mean, I could use my dungeon?”_

_“Yes, sire.”_

_“What fun! I haven’t done this in years!” After a moment he continues, “But we would have to feed him and give him water, wouldn’t we?”_

_“That would be rather necessary yes.”_

_“In that case –“ he snaps his fingers and points at the knight who announced their arrival. “You’ll be the head jailor responsible for our prisoner!”_

_The man huffs and stands up straighter._

_At least Morse made someone happy today._

* * *

 

_He is allowed to leave half an hour later, Smaug safely locked away and the Baron promising to keep him in the dungeon “for a while.” It’s the best he could have hoped for._

_As he is walking towards Old Saxon’s home, a voice he is coming to know as well as his own inquires, “And, did everything go well?”_

_“No thanks to you” he says without turning around._

_“Don’t be like that, Morse – may I call you Morse? – all in all, it was a successful day.”_

_He’s not entirely sure that he wants to be part of what the Marquis calls a successful day, but he did help him. So he answers, “I guess.”_

_“Come on. Buy you a drink?”_

_He turns around, then. He doesn’t trust the man or his smile, but he certainly isn’t going to find a way back Above now, when he’s exhausted and it’s late and –_

_“Alright” he decides. “But you will definitely the one buying it.”_

_He throws his hands in the air. “And to think that you don’t trust me enough for this! Why would I offer to buy you a drink and then not follow through? One could assume you have never heard of me before!”_

_Unexpectedly, Morse has to laugh at his antics._

_And so he follows him to the next place where they can get something that at least resembles a drink._

_Maybe the day was a successful one after all._

* * *

 

_The news of their arrest of Smaug soon travels through Below. Unexpectedly, Morse gets pointed out as “the man to find when one has problems” at Markets from then onwards._

_He supposes it’s something to do while he searches for a way out… And it doesn’t hurt to have several people owe him favours, either._

**Oxford**

“Puccini?” Superintendent Bright asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I thought he liked most operas.”

“He did, sir. Something must have happened to him that has a connection to it.”

“Could it be that it’s a buried memory of the Mary Tremlett case?”

There is hope in Bright’s voice. Despite Morse’s firm belief that the superintendent doesn’t like him, Thursday has always known that the opposite was the case. “It could be, but it felt like something more serious.”

“More serious than murder”

“I mean something Morse hasn’t deal with yet” he clarifies.

“At least he came to talk to you. That has to be a good sign” he says firmly. “I won’t allow Below to just take one of my officers and turn them into – whatever they have down there that resembles the force. Any ideas?”

Thursday shrugs. “Apart from following the rats, there is little we can do.”

“It might be a good idea to remind him of what he likes when he next shows up. Maybe not risk the music, but –“ Bright stops for a moment, considers. “Take him to a pub. Give him crossword puzzles to solve.”

It’s not even the worst idea Thursday has heard. He sighs.

If only it wasn’t so difficult to keep Below in one’s head. They could talk to people then, try to find out if something like this has ever happened before.

* * *

 

Jakes has come to the silent conviction that this whole business of “following the rats” must be connected with the old parchment Morse read to him. In fact, aren’t the ways of the rats usually the oldest? At least the buggers gets in anywhere they want, according to his experiences.

And so, one evening, he comes to a decision.

He lays out a bit of cheese on his kitchen floor. Granted, it could only attract mice, but you never know… after all, he has visited Below. Maybe the rats can sense that?

Techy are all growing rather desperate, as he is very aware. But what else can they do? They can’t just leave Morse down there, lost forever because he’s forgotten who he used to be.

They just can’t.

* * *

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night to hear rustling and slight squeaking. Seems it worked.

He sneaks into the kitchen to find several rather large rats looking decidedly smug and happy as they munch on the cheese.

Normally, he would try to catch one of them, or chase them away; but this is not about the normal thing to do. With Morse, it hardly was even when he still existed Above.

Therefore, Jakes does his best to remember the stories they told each other at Blenheim Vale and gently steps up to them. “hello.”

It feels strange, greeting a few rats, and just as he thinks so, all but one of them scatter.

But that one –

She’s looking at him like she knows.

And then he recognizes her. “Mistress Longtails?” He hopes that’s the right way of addressing her, anyway.

Her ears twitch.

“Look, I know how this sounds. But there’s someone in Below – you saw me with him. You saw me with endeavour. We call him Morse, here.”

Another twitch.

“Alright, would call him Morse here, if he still existed – although he does, just Below – it’s –“ he sighs and kneels down. “I suppose you know all about that, don’t you?”

She is still looking at him, much too knowing and still for a rat. Or at least the rats Jakes knows.

“He’s – he is a friend. _Was_ a friend. Would be a friend. We are trying to rescue him.”

An indignant squeak is all the answer he gets.

“I know that you probably don’t think he needs rescuing. But he was never supposed to – he belongs to Above. We care about him, you see? I am not saying you don’t” he adds hastily when her tails twitch. “But he came here a few years ago, all alone, and slowly became part of the team, and he was only trying to do his job when Below took him. And he – well, Endeavour, I suppose – he told me about old ways between Above and Below, and a colleague of ours was told to follow the rats and I was wondering if there is a connection between those two things…”

She starts running backwards and forwards, and for some strange reason, Jakes guesses what’s going on. “Please, could you at least… discuss the subject amongst yourselves? And let me know if you’d be ready to help us?”

To his surprise, she stands still once more, then rushes up to him, nuzzles his hand, squeaks once more and is gone.

His name is Peter Jakes, he’s a detective Sergeant, he’s been trying to save a colleague of his he wouldn’t even have called a friend until he was gone and he had to deal with that fact, and he’s kneeling on his kitchen floor in his pyjamas after talking to a rat at three am.

And yet, he feels more hopeful than he has in weeks.

* * *

 

Sometimes, Thursday downright resents the criminals of Oxford, these days. What he actually wants to do is look for a way to get Morse back, but instead he’s still forced to deal with pickpockets and muggers and murderers, and it’s rather difficult to keep his temper.

Thankfully he has a good team, even without Morse there to help.

And then comes the day when they once more have a brush with Below.

The pickpocket they are trying to arrest apparently thought it fit to disappear once and for all, because when they walk up to where Seamus Hardy used to live for the last five years, the landlady, rather indignant at the thought of the neighbours seeing the police on her doorstep, informs them that the place is let to a nice young student, and no, she has never heard of the name.

They find no proof that Seamus Hardy ever existed to begin with as the day wears on. Blood hell, even his victims still own the property they reported as stolen.

And normally that would be the end of it. No, normally that would mean they never got involved in the first place.

But Morse tipped the balance, and they are aware of Below now.

And yet they can do nothing.

It all seems so utterly pointless, Fred thinks as he drives home that night, feeling defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say - you like it, you leave a comment. Okay, so I just made that up, but I figured it couldn't hurt to try ^^. Thank you for reading regardless!


	14. Chapter 14

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

_By now, Morse has established himself as something like an authority when it comes to weird goings on. And with that, he means “weird” by Below standards, which either means_ This Would Be a Logical Motive Above But I Fail To Comprehend What’s Going On _, or, more often_ , This Is Strange Even For Us, Could You Take A Look?

_He supposes it’s one way to pass the time._

_It also means that people tend to knock on Old Saxon’s door at all times, however, and he can tell she doesn’t like it much. He’s always respected people’s need for solitude, and so he decides he has to start looking for an abode of his own._

_It doesn’t have to be anything special. He won’t be staying for much longer, he is certain of that._

_But he still should find a place to call – well, not exactly_ home _, but at least something like it. Something to return to at the end of a long day._

_At one of the next Markets, he hears someone mention Lonsdale. Somehow, until now, he hasn’t realized that it must exist Below too, or at least a version of it must exist in a pocket of time that has found its way there and remains unchanged through all the seasons and years that have followed._

_He goes there. It becomes easier and easier for him to navigate around Below, and while in some ways, this is a good thing, he worries that it could be a bad sign as well._

_The college seems to have fallen Below during summer, at least he’s ready to bet it’s always a pleasantly sunny day here. He actually finds empty rooms on the first floor, and makes a decision._

_He moves in a few days – what he considers days at least – later._

* * *

 

_“Quite a nice place you’ve found for yourself, Morse.”_

_The Marquis didn’t knock before he entered. Morse wouldn’t have expected him to._

_“Thank you.” It would be useless to ask where he himself lives. No one knows where the Marquis stays in-between the adventures he constantly seems to seek while also being the greatest coward in Below._

_Morse is starting to understand him, just a little, and it scares him, if he’s being honest. “It’s my old college.”_

_“Ah. I see. Somewhere in the early 1930s, isn’t it?”_

_He has no idea how he’s able to tell. “I assume” he says smoothly._

_“Early June” he muses as he looks out the window. “There are worse places you could have chosen.”_

_In fact, Morse is starting to wonder if it was a good idea after all, considering the Marquis seems to like it. He still doesn’t trust him, even if they did make a good team, he won’t deny that._

_“So I hear you are gathering quite the reputation for yourself.”_

_Morse, who managed to procure a kettle at the last Market, busies himself with making tea. “I am just doing my job.”_

_“You are doing what you have_ chosen _to do. There’s a difference. And yes, please. I’m a China man.”_

_So is Morse, and he did buy some tea off a small bearded gentleman as well, although for some reason he didn’t speak and they had to negotiate using their hands._

_“So what have you been up to?” he finds himself asking when they have settled down on the chairs he found in another empty room. Granted, he probably shouldn’t show that much of an interest in what is going on Below, but he still has to live with it, and anyway, it can’t hurt to know what he’s up to._

_“Oh, there’s a ship made out of a strange metal lying near the banks of the river all of a sudden.”_

_Morse blinks. “But that’s always been there.”_

_“But it hadn’t always been there yesterday” the Marquis explains happily, and Morse wonders if he will ever understand the ways of Below._

_Then he remembers that he doesn’t have to, because he’s going home._

_The realization that he forgot for a second scares him._

_“Anyway, want to check it out?” the Marquis asks._

_Morse decides he might as well, if only so he can figure out why he didn’t realize that it had suddenly appeared._

* * *

 

_Time moves on. Or maybe it doesn’t. It’s hard to tell, here. Morse gets used to people knocking on his door and demanding he do something about something, often showing up with tea or the biscuits it has been reported he likes, or offering favours._

_The Marquis drops by rather more often than he imagined he would, often sweeping him away because there’s an emergency, and it seriously hampers his search for a way out. But what is he supposed to do? This place is dangerous enough, he can’t afford to make anyone angry by showing them the door._

_It’s Old Saxon who makes him realize one day. He’s shown up just in time to have a cup of tea with her at the Market._

_“How are you?” she asks, “Honestly, Morse.”_

_He shrugs. “It could be worse.” He is doing better than when he first arrived here, at least._

_She takes a deep breath. “What’s your rank?”_

_He blinks. “My rank?”_

_“In the police force, as you call it.”_

_“I’m – I’m –“ First when he draws a blank he is only confused. Then the panic sets in._

_“Breathe, Morse, breathe” she mutters, dragging him in the shadows so that no one can see his moment of weakness and rubbing his back. “It’s alright.”_

_“It’s not.”_

_“No. It’s not. But that’s what people say.”_

_He smiles at her and takes a deep breath. “I guess so. How can I have –“_

_”Detective Constable. That’s what you said.”_

_He sighs. “Thank you.”_

_She pats his hand. “Be careful to keep your memories in order, Morse.”_

_It sounds more like a word of warning than advice, and he knows just what to do._

_There is one thing that has always grounded him, at least._

_And it’s a Market night._

_He sets out to find some recurs. Preferably opera._

**Elsewhere**

The Marquis de Carabas has made a habit of not feeling guilty for anything he does. If he did, where would the world come to? He has had to do his fair share of rather illicit things, and some of them would have been considered crimes in Above; At least he’s rather certain DI Thursday would use any excuse to arrest him, but that’s no surprise, considering he is what is commonly referred to as a good man.

Like Morse used to be.

And there it is again, that sliver of conscience he has to his dismay found he has. It’s all to do with Endeavour, Morse, whoever he truly is.

Keeping him in Below was a wonderful idea. He didn’t know that day would be the day he finally arrived in Below when he went to meet DI Thursday and his entourage. But once he laid eyes on him…

The Marquis would be loathe to admit just how difficult it was for him to act like he didn’t recognize Morse at first. But he had to.

And so he suppressed all his emotions and did what he would have done, had he never heard of him until that moment.

So why this twinge of his conscience? Why feel bad for something he had no control over, in the end?

Oh, Old Saxon would probably tell him he is at fault, somehow. But that’s something she loves to do. That has nothing to do with just him.

Still…

“Dear God, old scoundrel, are you actually starting to think about what you are doing?”

“Of course not” he says smoothly, turning to find Endeavour in Peregrine’s company. His brother has that knowing look he always has when he can tell exactly what’s wrong with him, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Your brother was just telling me about London Below. Might take a look one of these days.”

As if he weren’t already enough of a legend in Oxford Below.

And that’s when another suspicion darts into the Marquis’ head.

Endeavour told him DI Thursday and the others at Cowley station are trying to rescue Morse. Granted, they won’t manage, considering Endeavour is here – or that’s what a normal mind would think, at any rate.

And even though he knows that, and knows the ways of Below, he still made the mistake of thinking that nothing would happen that could change –

_But what if they succeed._

That is indeed the question, and a very difficult one to answer at that.

While Below has always looked after itself, Endeavour has done a lot – Morse has done a lot for it; and it’s difficult to imagine all of that being reversed, or simply gone as if it had never been.

And then, of course, because try as he might, he cannot deny that it has happened, that he actually cares for someone, he has to consider what losing Endeavour might do to him.

Him. The Marquis de Carabas. Caring about losing someone. Imagine that.

And it gets even worse when he considers that it is more than possible that Endeavour cares for him too, a little at least; after all he gave him a nickname, something he never did for his brother…

“Marquis? Everything alright?” Endeavour lightly touches his hand and yes, there can be no doubt that he cares for him. Even if that worry is born out of the Marquis having worn Morse down until nothing of him was left, but for some reason clinging on to the begrudging fondness he’d shown more and more when she still remembered who he was.

“You know me” he answers smoothly.

Endeavour hums. “That’s more of a reason than anything to think nothing is alright, but fine, if you don’t want to say, there’s little I can do. Just remember to tell me before it all goes dark Below, right?”

He doesn’t meet Peregrine’s eyes.

* * *

 

Something’s been going on, Old Saxon is sure of it. Things usually do in Below, but this feel special. _Strange_.

And the rats have been restless all day. While it is her custom to ignore them for the simple reason that it is the polite thing to do and the rats tend to let people know when they want to be acknowledged, she cannot deny that they have been noisy, running and squeaking and whispering amongst themselves.

Something has happened. Something is happening. Something is _going_ to happen. She long ago forget all those difference Aboveners make between the tenses. They are simply not important enough to consider, here.

She is busy cooking marmalade. It’s always a valuable commodity, and she’ll be getting a lot for it at the next Market.

Still, she can hear them behind her, scratching away. Planning something.

Trusting the rats was the first thing she learned to do, back when she arrived. When she still lived Above, they were constantly chased out of the house; here you have to welcome them in if you know what’s good for you.

And so she takes a deep breath and tries her best to ignore them until she can’t anymore.

A decided squeak causes her to turn around and see Mistress Longtails.

She bows. “It is good to see you, Mistress.”

A squeak.

She blinks.

So that’s what they are up to.

_The Old Ways._

She doesn’t think about them. It wouldn’t do for one of them to know all about them, so it’s better to stay carefully ignorant.

“But –“

She doesn’t answer, but Old Saxon has an idea.                                    

A mad, crazy, idea, an idea that’s as wonderful as it is dangerous.

And she knows what she should say. She should tell the rats that they should leave well enough alone. Yes, Morse has been gone for a while, but Endeavour has done a great many things for Below.

She thinks of big green eyes, desperate green eyes, soft green eyes, and says nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was working on a paper all night and am not even sure what day it is anymore.

**Elsewhere – Four weeks and ten years ago**

**_The first time he and Endeavour do something important (for the Marquis would never consider anything like stopping a riot from erupting on the Market important – too simple in the end) it is –_ **

**_Well, to put it short, they prevent a war._ **

**_It is not his idea. The Marquis may be a coward, but he has always been a proud coward, one who didn’t mind the fact of him being a coward being universally known. It stopped people from assuming he’d step up and be a hero._ **

**_Until now, anyway._ **

**_He is minding his own business – in other words, the Baron’s business, since there’s a small task he’s undertaken for him – when suddenly a voice he has come to know rather well hisses “Fast, man!”_ **

**_He will later think that the lack of use of a nickname was a bad sign from the start._ **

**_“But –“ he manages to say just as Endeavour drags him into the shadows._ **

**_This young (he assumes he’s young) man really is too fond of dramatic entrances and gestures. The Marquis should know. He has long considered himself a bit of a connoisseur on the subject._ **

**_“What –“_ **

**_“The Cantiaci and the Durotriges are about to go to war” he announces as if it should matter to him._ **

**_“So?”_ **

**_“So? This could wreak havoc in the whole of Underside, and you know it!”_ **

**_The Marquis, for one, has never thought much of those who call Below “Underside” when they want to be especially dramatic, unless that someone happens to be him. He is never dramatic without good reason._ **

**_“Thank you for telling me. I will have to be careful –“_ **

**_Endeavour rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to go in three alone, and I do remember that I saved your life not so long ago –“_ **

**_There it is. Well, he can deal with –_ **

**_“Please? I’d really rather have someone by my side in this.”_ **

**_Good God._ **

**_He just asked him. He just asked him. As if his companionship is something he desires, not something he needs._ **

**_And the Marquis knows what he should do. Grab his things and move away for a few months, or maybe a few decades. London Below is nice at this time of the year, and he hasn’t seen Lord Portico in a while –_ **

**_And then he looks into Endeavour’s eyes and somehow finds himself nodding._ **

* * *

 

**_He himself has never paid much attention to the old Celtic tribes, simply because they like being left alone, and he’s always been one for respecting that wish for privacy, unless someone happened to own something he really wanted, and that’s not been the case when it comes to them._ **

**_“What happened, anyway?” he asks._ **

**_“The old problem. Territory. As far as I was given to understand, the Durotriges suddenly decided to encroach on that of the Cantiacti, and they didn’t react all that well…”_ **

**_“And now they are going to war.”_ **

**_“They mean to go to war. They won’t. That’s where we come into play. I guess it will be a little bit dangerous, but…”_ **

**_He trails off, and the Marquis doesn’t like how he just dismissed the danger involved. At all. “So what are we supposed to do?”_ **

**_“Negotiate, of course” Endeavour says lightly._ **

**_“Who are you working for?”_ **

**_“Currently? No one.”_ **

**_The Marquis stands still. “Are you telling me you are risking your life – and much more importantly, mine – for_ ** **free _?”_**

**_“You know what this could mean for Below” Endeavour tells him. “You know what could happen.”_ **

**_He does, indeed. The last time a war broke out between two fractions, he had to spend several years in Paris Below because large parts of Oxford Below had become inhabitable. It eventually healed itself, of course. It always does._ **

**_But for some reason, Endeavour wishes that it shouldn’t have to._ **

**_“And I” the very man he’s contemplating then announces, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “have a plan.”_ **

**_Granted, he hasn’t had much experience with Endeavour’s plans, but there seems to be a lot of_ ** **Let’s Go And See What Happens _, which he doesn’t exactly appreciate. “And what does this wonderful plan entail?”_**

**_“Oh you know – I suppose technically it’s illegal, but what can you do.”_ **

**_He uses words from Above as if they are supposed to have a meaning. Interesting._ **

**_And well – if they are talking in Above terms, yes, the Marquis is rather an expert when it comes to illegal things._ **

* * *

 

**_Endeavour’s plan is as clever as it is dangerous. Both the Cantiaci and the Durotriges think much of honour – and of blood._ **

**_And so, he and the Marquis sneak into the Cantiacti’s leader’s quarters and kidnap his only son, who’s barely more than a boy and supposed to get his first real war experience._ **

**_Endeavour has not mention to him that he is going to allow people to catch them in the act, however – or at least make enough of a noise that soon, pursuers are on their heels while they drag the terrified young man with them._ **

**_“What exactly is your plan?” he hisses._ **

**_“I told you – honour” he replies evenly, and a little too happily considering the mess they are in. “We are near the Durotriges camp –“_ **

**_“And what does this have to do –“_ **

**_As soon as the boy hears, he starts screaming how he, a honest Cantiaci, is being kidnapped, and now they have two angry tribes on their hands._ **

**_They have almost been caught when Endeavour wheezes (finally, the Marquis thinks, he shows some sign of weakness) “If you were so kind to open a door now, that would be –“_ **

**_He doesn’t have to be asked twice._ **

**_A moment later, they fall through a door to the ground near Old Saxon’s abode. She and Endeavour must indeed be close. If only the Marquis could figure out how or why._ **

**_“What now?” he asks._ **

**_“Now” Endeavour says, getting up and first dusting himself and then, to his surprise, the Marquis off, “Now they are going to have to deal with the fact that the Durotriges saved the future leader of the Cantiaci. Pretty difficult to be on war after that, wouldn’t you say?”_ **

**_That’s downright… diabolical. And all for the greater good, too._ **

**_Dear God, if he is not careful, Endeavour might even prove a good influence on the Marquis de Carabas himself. As far as that is at all possible._ **

**Oxford**

Jakes is still waiting on news from the rats. And that is something he never thought he’d say or even think, but here they are.

Thursday’s been nervous the last few days, but he can hardly blame him, since the man who would have been his bagman if he hadn’t fallen into Oxford Below years and yet weeks ago (Jakes mostly does his best not to think about that too much) showed up in his car only to be cryptic, scream about Puccini and disappear.

There must be a reason for that sudden dislike.

He looks up and stares at Morse’s desk. The Inspector and Trewlove did a good job; it truly looks as if he’s only stopped out for a moment.

“Doesn’t seem right, does it” Strange suddenly observes, having seen what he’s looking at. “that he won’t just come in and tell us another one of his wild theories.”

Jakes nods.

“Even before I remembered, there was something off about the station. Seemed like an integral part of it was missing, somehow. And then DI Thursday remembered.”

The reason for Stranger’s musings is soon brought up when he eventually adds, “I saw a killer on the street today and I could do nothing about it.”

One of the worst things about Morse having got lost is how many cases they didn’t solve, and that they know, even though they remember the murderers very well, have no chance of booking them.

“Yeah, well, we don’t have the evidence.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“No” Jakes says, “it doesn’t.”

And if those bloody rats don’t come through, they’ll have to find the old ways without them. Or one, at least.

And he’s rather sure that whatever that search entails, it’s going to be dangerous.

Typically Morse. He can’t even get lost half-heartedly.

**Elsewhere**

So they have come to a decision, Old Saxon thinks when Mistress Longtails approaches her.

She knows what she hopes it will be, but she doesn’t dare to dwell on it. He’s done so much for Below; he deserves to be looked for and – well, she can’t say saved; not all those who wander Below are damned, and she won’t ever call Endeavour damned, no matter what happens; but still. He deserves to be found.

When Mistress Longtails starts whistling, she doesn’t bother to hide the smile on her face and goes to search for paper and a quill.

**Oxford**

Reginald Bright knows very well what his station is preoccupied with, these days.

Mostly because he is as well.

“No, sir, we believe there is a real chance that we can rescue him” he patiently explains to the Chief Superintendent on the phone. The man has never felt comfortable when dealing with Below (in fairness, who has?) and is less than enthusiastic on them “wasting” time and resources on finding someone who, since he slipped through the cracks, no longer exists in Above. Bright happens to think differently; he’ll be damned if he lets any of his own behind. Morse may not be what he first thinks of when he dwells on what a normal copper is supposed to be like, but that doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s clever, has solved a lot of cases, and he deserves to be searched for.

If this happened to any of them, Morse would be the first to tear Oxford apart to find them, Bright knows.

A very determined squeak interrupts his thoughts.

The next thing he knows, a big rat has leaped on his desk and is making more noises than he thought they were capable of.

 _Follow the rats_ , he remembers Strange said, but what –

And then it tilts its head and looks at him and he has the strange feeling that the rat must be a superior officer of its kind in its own way, and that’s why it came to him.

With another decisive squeak, it makes two other rats (he is rather glad the Chief Superintendent is not here to see them) drag an envelope unto his desk, then disappears.

He looks down on the envelope.

 _Sergeant Peter Jakes_ , it proclaims in spidery handwriting – that was done by a quill, he’d say.

And, below that, in smaller writings: _The One He Calls Cowboy._

Bright is rather sur he knows who _he_ is supposed to be.

Well. At least its’s news.

They only gave to see if it’s good or bad.

* * *

 

“Excuse me, Sergeant Jakes? I believe this is for you” Superintendent Bright’s voice rings out.

He looks up and sees him holding an envelope that looks strange enough to make certain it comes from Below.

“Is there any chance it was delivered by rats, sir?”

“As a matter of fact, it was, Sergeant.”

He all but tears it out of his hands, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Thursday has heard the commotion and all but stalks out of his office. “Is it about Morse?          ”

“I think so, sir.”

“You’ve kept that close to your chest.”

He hears the slight rebuke. “I was just following a hunch, sir _.” And didn’t want to cause anyone distress in case it didn’t work out, but that’s not an option now._

He wonders why they went to Superintendent Bright. Maybe to show that they did approve of his wish to rescue Morse?

Then again, maybe the message is just the word NO over and over and over. Who knows, with Below.

He carefully opens it.

HE needs a moment to understand what he’s seeing, then he draws a deep breath.

“And?” Thursday demands. “What is it?”

“I believe” he says carefully. “It’s a map, sir.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One mystery gets resolved ;)

**Elsewhere**

The Marquis de Carabas may be a coward, and he may know when to duck, and he may be the most likely of all to disappear In a dangerous situation, but no one could call him a fool.

He always knows when things start happening. That is the important part, after all. Nothing would ever start if not for beginnings.

And so he can almost feel it; Below readying itself for another battle.

But not one between two fractions Underside; not one between two fiefdoms, even; no, this is going to be an altogether different struggle.

It feels like the place is humming.

Something has definitely been set in motion. And the Marquis would be ready to bet – if he were a betting man, which he is not, for the simple reason that it contains the possibility of losing – that it has to do with the rats.

They have been rather quiet, lately.

And that means they are dealing with… something.

Old Saxon might know. But whether she will tell him is a different story.

Endeavour? He could always try and ask Endeavour. But then, he might draw his attention to something eh really shouldn’t be paying any attention to in the first place.

Because, the Marquis realizes, there is something –

He is –

For the first time in his life, the Marquis de Carabas is scared for something else than his own hide.

He doesn’t like the feeling.

* * *

 

She feels better after she has drawn the map. Morse deserves a chance to be brought back to Above.

And so, even though he would deny it if one asked, does Endeavour.

She has never been quite certain just how much there is left of Morse in Endeavour, or how much of Endeavour was already in Morse; sometimes she thinks quite a bit, sometimes she wonders if Below hasn’t turned him into something else entirely, someone else entirely.

But he still likes her, and he still seems to trust the Marquis for some reason, and she knows that already happened before he forgot.

All of this is very complicated, even for her.

And what she did might well have far-reaching consequences. For Below, for her personally, and for someone she still cares very deeply about, even if he has forgotten who he truly is.

Well – she can’t change it now. She is still glad she drew the map.

* * *

 

A squeak in the darkness. Rustling.

A few rats converge not far from the college – the one where Endeavour lives.

He always leaves out a bit of cheese for them, unlike others, who think they would disapprove of being treated as pets.

How wrong they are.

But then, they only ever look at appearances. The rats look at the heart behind the hand that brings the cheese.

And doing so, they know very well that Endeavour leaves out the cheese because he genuinely cares.

* * *

 

There is something the matter with Below today. Endeavour can’t ignore it. Ignoring a feeling like that would be foolish like best and suicidal at worst, and he has never been either, as far as he can recall.

Then again, sometimes his memory seems to take curious leaps. He never cared before that it does, but somehow this strange feeling makes him wonder.

But this – this is something; he doesn’t know what it is exactly, but something –

Below has its way of dealing with change. Now and then, one can almost physically feel that one is about to take place; and this is one of those times. There is something in the air, travelling across time and space, hinting at things to come.

Normally, it leaves him feeling excited, and he doesn’t understand why it only confuses him now.

He is slowly walking along the banks of the river. He likes it here, even with the occasional bag of trash from Above or sometimes even a body floating by.

“Ah, Endeavour.”

Peregrine. As stated before, Endeavour has just realized that some of his memories seem curiously lacking in substance; and he cannot recall when he first learned that he as the Marquis’ elder brother.

One thing he is absolutely sure of, however.

The Marquis de Carabas is a scoundrel and a fraud, a man who would rather run than raise a finger to help a friend if it involved danger –

And yet Endeavour vastly prefers hymn to his brother. There is something real about him, in contrast to Peregrine, who is all polished and artificial.

“Below is whispering today.”

It’s one way to put it, he supposes. “I noticed.”

“Any idea what this is about – or rather, who it is about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He is certainly not going to let himself get tricked into doing anything for Peregrine without at least being promised a favour.

“In that case” he says evenly, “I would ask your old friend – the one who lives in the tower of the same name. Or my dear brother.” Peregrine grins, but there is a meaning behind the gesture that Endeavour doesn’t like.

And then he is gone.

Even him vanishing always seems to be more malicious than when the Marquis does the same.

Or maybe he’s just biased.

Either way, he is going to find out what is going on, and so he sets out to find the Marquis. He can always ask Old Saxon about it later.

There is something in him, whispering, hinting at the chance that there might _not_ be a later, at least not for Endeavour, at least not in Below; and it makes him the closest to feeling scared than he has been in a long, long time.

Maybe ever.

Still he walks on. He has never been one to leave things be. After all, if he did, so many things would never have happened.

And with most of them, that would have been a shame. Even if he does say so himself.

After he’s left the river, it floats on, as always.

And yet watching it, an observer wouldn’t be able to help the feeling that it, top, is waiting.

**Elsewhere – Four weeks and ten years ago**

_At first, he thinks that forgetting his rank was a one-time fluke – a bit of forgetfulness on his part because he has so much to do he barely manages to look for a way out anymore, these days. Whenever he has finally finished all his tasks, the Marquis is sure to show up and drag him into some kind of adventure; he doesn’t quite understand why, since rumour has it he has never worked well with others, but so it is._

_And he has to eat and rest sometime, too._

_And then he realizes there are other things he has forgotten. On one day, he finds that he has problems recalling DI Thursday’s first name; then he can’t remember whether Jakes or Strange was made a sergeant first; and finally, a week later, he mixes up Mrs. And Miss Thursday’s first names._

_To say that this development scares him would be an understatement._

_His music does seem to help him. When he listens to the LPS he managed to find – they were rather dear, since they are valuable material in Below – and closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he is back in his flat Above. Almost._

_One day, he is listening to Puccini when all of a sudden the Marquis says, “Did you ever hear of the Great Beast of Oxford?”_

_He knows well enough what reaction he wants, so without opening his eyes, he grabs the knife he always has at hand these days and throws it towards him._

_When he looks, he finds the Marquis playing around with it. “You are getting better at this.”_

_He’s not sure its’s a compliment. “What Beast?” If he doesn’t listen to him, he will never go away. He’s learned that, at any rate._

_“The Great Beast of Oxford. You know, a short while ago – or a long time ago, really, they are rather difficult to keep apart – someone managed to trap it.”_

_“Who –“_

_“Doesn’t matter. My point is, it has escaped and is now roaming Below. And we can’t have that, can we?”_

_“And what makes you think that I am capable of beast-slaying?”_

_“I am happy to hear you volunteering.”_

_He’s in for it now, and he knows it._

* * *

 

_“Now, first of all” the Marquis tells him as they are walking along the river, “We need the right weapon. The Grey Friars’ spear will do. But nothing else.”_

_“The Frey Friars?”_

_“Men who wear grey robes” he tells him happily. “The problem is, one has to go through an ordeal to get it.”_

_“And I assume you won’t be the one volunteering” is Morse’s tired reply. By now, he’s too used to the Marquis’ shenanigans to care about such trivial details._

_Plus, for some reason, the Marquis seems to think Morse is important, so if something happens, he would intervene. Reluctantly, but he would._

_“And that is why you made such a good detective Above.”_

_Morse simply shakes his head._

_The Friar who meets them at the entrance tries to dissuade Morse from trying. Apparently “enough fine young men and women” have been lost._

_Morse takes a deep breath. He knows him well enough to feel certain that the Marquis de Carabas wouldn’t get involved with the Beast unless it was absolutely necessary; and until he finds a way Above, Oxford Below is his home. He can’t allow it to be destroyed._

_“I’ll do it” he says firmly. “Marquis, I will see you soon.”_

_“Until then, Morse.”_

_He doesn’t see the Marquis watch him walk away, something like shame in his eyes for the first time._

* * *

 

_He is lead into a small room. At first, he doesn’t hear or see anything but then –_

_It all comes rushing back._

_Oxford comes rushing back._

_Oxford Above._

_One moment, he is trying to find a magical spear so he can slay the Beast, and the next –_

_He is stumbling along an all too familiar road, with people openly staring at him, because why wouldn’t they, he is dirty and his suit hangs in tatters at this point, and he can’t think, he can barely breathe –_

_He leans against the nearest wall and tries to gather his thoughts, but they just keep slipping out if his reach. What happened? How did he return to Oxford Above? All this time he’s tried and searched and hoed and now –_

_“Morse? There you are! Good God! Lad, what happened?”_

_He looks up and finds himself next to DI Thursday._

_He all but collapses but the DI manages to catch him and put him upright again._

_“Sir?” he says weakly. “What –“_

_“You went missing a week ago. Your landlady said you were talking absolute nonsense. We’ve been looking for you all over!”_

_That’s it, then. He finally snapped. There is no London Below, there never was a London Below, he simply spent the past week mumbling to himself and walking around the city._

_Morse doesn’t know where to cry and laugh. He can’t even look at DI Thursday._

_“We thought you were dead!”_

_That does make him finally look up properly, but the words “I’m sorry, sir” die on his tongue when he sees the hostility in the DI’S face._

_“Sir?”_

_“Of course might have been better for all of us. You know how this looks? With you becoming unhinged, every case you’ve ever worked on hangs in the balance!”_

_“But sir –“_

_“Really, considering everything you never should have showed up again at all.”_

_Morse can only stare at him._

_“As a matter of fact” Thursday’s voice drops to an intimate level, “I think we could end it right now.”_

_“Sir –“_

_“Oh, stop calling me that. Even if you could prove you’ve grown sane again, no one with a brain would let you anywhere near the station again.”_

_This Hurst almost more than anything else._

_“So, you see, the road is rather busy today” Thursday continues, waving towards it._

_And suddenly, it is. Morse doesn’t recall quiet so many cars driving down there before._

_“They can say it was an accident, you see. Makes it easier.”_

_An accident – he wants him to – Morse swallows._

_“We can claim that you were simply suicidal, not a lunatic, and so the cases will still be iron-clad. It’s only logical, in the long run.”_

_And suddenly,_ Un Bel Di _starts playing. Morse doesn’t know how or why; but he knows that Thursday is grasping his forearm, urging him to end it all, and Puccini fills his head, but it doesn’t help, on the contrary, it hurts, because he remembers Thursday comforting him after the Mary Tremlett case and now he wants him to – he wants him to –_

_And something in Morse breaks._

_But it’s not the something the ordeal wanted to break within him, he suddenly realizes as his head clears._

_No, what broke was his ability ton break in the first place._

_He steps away from Thursday. “So you think this is going to work?” he asks coolly. “I haven’t done too bad a job surviving until now, you know. As a matter of fact, I’ve grown rather good at it. I am not some insect you can just crush under your heels. I am Detective Constable Endeavour Morse of the Oxford city police, and I am going to go home – once I’ve dealt with the beast.”_

_Thursday throws his head back and laughs. “De you even know what you sound –“_

_And then Morse pushes him, the thing pretending to be Thursday, into the traffic._

_And it all falls silent._

_He listens to the last notes of_ Un Bel DI _and knows that he will never listen to Puccini without shuddering again._

_And lying in front of him, as if it has always been there, is –_

_He takes the spear and looks around. Just a small room in a monastery in Oxford Below._

_Morse laughs. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice._

_It sounds far too cheerful._

* * *

 

_When he walks out, although he will never know it, the Marquis quickly switches off a record player he hid near the monastery earlier, and steps out of the shadows. “I see you have the spear.”_

_He nods and holds it up. “Let’s go.”_

_There’s something different about Morse, he realizes. And not just because Below is working at him, changing him, making him forget._

_No._

_There is something different in his eyes._

_Morse has started to grow up._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more explanations in this one - at least I hope it's still clear :)

**Oxford**

Once the rest of the team learns what has been sent to Jakes, volunteers abound. It seems everyone wants to help getting Morse back, but while Fred understands, he won’t have it. He made the mistake once to think that there was safety in numbers, and instead they proved to be more vulnerable than before.

And so, he decides that he’ll do this alone with Jakes. Them and Morse have often worked together on scenes, so he feels that they are their best bet.

Bright insists on having a copy of the map taken, “Just in case”. They all know what case he means but don’t speak of it.

They have decided to wait until tomorrow. Get a good night’s rest before setting out.

As if that’s likely, but even Fred has to admit it would do no good to just burst into Below and demand Morse – Endeavour – accompany them back up.

If the old way is safe enough, if they even make it so far.

Win knows immediately that something’s up when he comes home, of course, but as per usual, they don’t mention Morse in front of Joan. All this is complicated enough without a child of his worrying about him, too.

Once she’s gone upstairs, Win puts a record on – Strauß – and pours him a drink. “What is it, Fred?” she asks softly.

“We’ve found a way. Or rather, Jakes found a way. Made a plea to the rats. Got them to ask someone to draw us a map.”

She takes a deep breath. “You are going Below.”

“Yes.” The word falls flat but they both know it’s the only thing they can do.

She nods. “You will have to be careful.”

He could lie, but there’s no point. She’d know. “Yes” he repeats, “First of all, we’ll have to make it down that old route – and God knows what awaits us there – then we have to find Morse and convince him to come back with us…”

He still isn’t sure how to manage it. Lying would be a possibility, but he’s still as sharp as he always was, if not sharper, so he would probably guess that they were playing him; and then what? Once they’ve lost all his trust – they can’t very well drag him back Above against his will. Although there will be two of them against one, unless –

“And then there’s the Marquis de Carabas” he continues. “I have no idea what he’s up to, but he seemed to be quite keen to get Morse taken by Below, and –“

“Maybe he cares for him” Win slowly supplies, and Fred can only stare at her.

“That man? Care for anyone other than himself? Unlikely. He just wanted a good copper down there to deal with things so he doesn’t have to.”

“Fred, from what you told me, it seems more complicate than that. I am not saying that might not be how it started, but – or maybe it was the other way round; it all seems very confusing – what I meant to say was, sometimes you grow to care for people against your very best interests and if everything you told me is true, it would be the very first time for him.”

There is food for thought there. If the Marquis does indeed care for Morse – if somewhere in that smug head, a sliver of conscience remains – than they could use that against him. Provided it wouldn’t cause Endeavour to resent them. If that happens, it will become even more difficult to convince him that Oxford Above is where he belongs.

“You’ll do your best, Fred” Win says, squeezing his hand, “And whether or not you’ll get Morse back… he would be thankful for that.”

He can only hope that his best will be good enough.

**Elsewhere**

The Marquis hasn’t often climbed up to see Old Saxon at her home, but this time, he feels it is necessary. Even if she still looks at him with an expression in her face that strongly implies she’d rather he be eaten by the now long-gone Beast rather soon.

She is at home, he can tell immediately. Buildings always seem more alive when their owner has returned.

She immediately opens the door upon his first knock and studies his face. “I expected you” is all she says, leading him inside.

The Marquis never went here when Morse was still around. He had other things to do.

A mind to break.

Although there was a time when he wouldn’t have thought of it like that.

“So you’ve felt it, too?” Old Saxon as friendly as soon as they have sat down, making him suspicious of her. Why would she be friendly now?

“Yes. Difficult not to.”

She nods. “Endeavour is worried as well.”

While not even having guessed once that this is all about him. “I assume he is. That’s what we have him for.”

“That’s what you kept him around for, old scoundrel.”

Her using Endeavour’s nickname for him feels like a slap in the face, and worse – a part of him knows that he deserves it. “You can’t tell me he hasn’t done a great many things for Below.”

“He has”. She sighs. “That’s the problem.”

And then, suddenly, with startling clarity, he knows. “You. You did this. You told them how to get him back, didn’t you?”

“No.” And when he looks at her again, she suddenly appears older and more powerful than he has ever seen her. “I helped the rats do it.”

“Old Saxon –“

“No, Marquis” she interrupts him, standing up. Even though he usually towers above her, he feels smaller than he ever has. “It is time for them to get their chance. You saw yours, and you took it. And we both know what you did. We both know you wasted no opportunity to drag him even deeper into Below, to make him accustomed to our ways. And then – you poisoned his music for him.”

“Just one piece” he replies, hating how small he sounds. “Just Puccini.”

“That may be, but you know – you know that took his anchor from him. You know that from this moment on, his music didn’t help him to hold on anymore, and all because you pressed a button during the ordeal he went through on your insistence.”

“Peregrine came up with it” he mumbles, shocked to find himself confessing the truth. “He –“

“Oh, so now you are hiding behind your big brother?” she taunts him.

He can’t bring himself to look at her, and she deflates. “Go” she says. “There is nothing for us to do. The Aboveners are coming now.”

He gets up. At the door, he hesitates. “Old Saxon – you didn’t do very much to prevent all of this, either.”

And now it is her who sounds sorry. “Like you said, Marquis – he has made Below a better place. It was difficult to resist that.”

He leaves.

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

_They walk towards the plane the Beast has been roaming slowly, Morse clutching the spear. All in all, the ordeal was not as bad as it could have been – at least he survived, and that is something in Below._

_“So I assume you’ll be behind some boulder, ducking, while I try and fight the Beast?” he asks, feeling weirdly elated. Or maybe he is just exhausted and worn down. Who knows. At least he has the spear._

_The Marquis’ answer surprises him. “No. I’ll help.”_

_The only thing that confuses him more is how happy he is to hear it. Somehow, he’s started to like him – even trust him a little. How could he not? They’ve already been through much together, even though Morse hasn’t been in Below long. “You’re an old scoundrel, but you do know when to do the right thing” he replies lightly._

_He doesn’t see the Marquis’ flinch in response._

_Fog hangs about the plane when they arrive. “Is there any chance that this is not here?”_

_“Not really” the Marquis answers, obviously struggling for his usual levity. “I expect it –“_

_And that is when they hear it._

_Or maybe not._

_It’s rather difficult, Morse will later think, to describe the sound of someone or something backing up._

_They look at one another, then jump aside just in time before the Beast breaks through the fog and tries to trample both of them at the same time._

_It’s – it’s massive. Centuries of blood and malice and hatred, balled into a single body of an animal unlike any Morse has ever seen._

_And it’s turning towards him._

_If they have any advantage at all, it’s its weight. It isn’t as fast as them. But that’s about it._

_He throws himself to the side, almost losing the spear, clutching it just in time before it rolls away._

_And then he hears the whistling._

_The Marquis is jumping up and down not far from them, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that the Beast wants to mail him._

_Predictably enough, it attacks him – the Marquis doing a rather impressive job of dodging its claws – and Morse knows the time to strike has come._

_But how, and were? It seems such a strange thing to do, to use this little spear against a giant Beast; a Beast that has been roaming Oxford Below for such a long time no one can remember when it didn’t –_

_But the spear was kept for the Grey Friars for a reason, and Morse didn’t go through the ordeal for nothing. He clutches his weapon until, his knuckles turn white and advances towards the Beast._

_Who naturally seems to sense that something is going on and turns it’s blood red eyes on him._

_Yes. This is it. The Beast or Morse._

_The Marquis calls out his name – or perhaps something else, he will never be sure._

_In the end, it’s all over rather quickly. The Beast jumps, and so does Morse; and he succeeds in burying the spear in its side._

_It collapses almost noiselessly._

_The Marquis walks up to them. “You should put some of its blood on your tongue and your eyes. It will help you find your way around Below.”_

_He does. It doesn’t taste bad; mostly of sweat and nature and old age._

* * *

 

_“Would you mind terribly if I took the Baron’s train back home?” he asks tiredly as they’re drudging along the plane, back the way they came. “I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.”_

_The Marquis shakes his head, that strange look he saw before they confronted the Beast crossing his face again._

_Soon enough, he finds himself on the platform, the Marquis having vanished without a goodbyes, as is his wont._

_When the train stops, a knight peeks out and shouts, “It is the Slayer of the Beast!”_

_The train erupts into applause._

_Morse has been in Below for too long at this point to wonder how they know._

_The Baron is expecting him with a smile on his face. “You have done a great deed. Guard, bring me my sword!”_

_He has Morse kneel down, as if he were to bestow a knighthood upon him; and in fact it seems that what he receives is very close to one._

_“The freedom of the Underside, Sir Morse” he says simply, touching his shoulders, sounding very important indeed. “No one will dare bar your way now.”_

_He supposes it will help while he’s looking for Oxford Above, and so he thanks him with a smile on his face and accepts the cup of wine he is offered._

* * *

 

_That night, he randomly grabs a record and puts it on._

_When the first notes of_ Un Bel Di _fill his rooms, he stares. He can feel the panic welling up already –_

_Then, he quickly takes the record off the player and throws it against the wall, not caring where the pieces land._

_There are other LPs he can listen to._

_But, as he does so, he doesn’t realize that the music no longer keeps his memories from slipping away._


	18. Chapter 18

**Oxford**

Below doesn’t make any sense. As strange as it sounds, the thought is a comfort to Fred; because if they should be taken, if they should vanish from the face and the earth, Win and the children will still exist – they simply won’t have a husband and father and won’t recall ever having one.

It’s a very dangerous thing they are about to do, but they can’t leave Morse down there. That, all of them agree on.

When Joan leaves for the bus that morning, he calls out, “You wouldn’t have a kiss for your old dad, would you?”

She comes back, looking a bit bemused, and grants his wish.

Win has made him two sandwiches. “One for you, and one for Morse, when you get him back. That poor boy probably hasn’t had something decent to eat in ages.” Her eyes soften. “I know it’s useless to tell you to stay safe, but do your best, alright? Bring him home.”

He kisses her.

Jakes is already waiting for him, leaning against the car, smoking. He glances at the two sandwiches and something like a smile crosses his face.

They don’t speak on the drive to the station. Maybe they are both thinking that they’ll soon have all the time in the world to talk when they are walking Below; maybe they are dwelling on those they are leaving behind; maybe they are considering the dangers that await them.

Most likely they are both thinking of the colleague and friend they are trying to save.

* * *

 

The whole station seems to be buzzing with anticipation as they enter. Superintendent Bright is already waiting for them. “Inspector, a word?”

They repair to his office. “How sure are we that this can work?”

Thursday shrugs. “As far as we know, it might already be doomed to failure.”

Bright lights up a cigarette. “Normally, I’d be inclined to agree, but if anyone can beat the odds and return, it’s Morse.” After a moment’s hesitation, he takes a small packet out of his pocket. “I don’t know if it will help, but… I did remember last night that salt is supposed to help against dark forces. I figured it couldn’t hurt to take some with you.”

Thursday realizes he has no idea if those Below even _use_ salt, and isn’t it a bizarre thing to wonder when he’s about to plunge into a world of madness and strangeness and imagination. “Thank you” he says simply, accepting the salt.

When he gets back to the door of his office, Trewlove is handing Jakes candlesticks. “It’s like that old song, sir” she explains as soon as she sees he’s joined them. “Fire and Fleet and Candlelight… Most scholars agree that those lines stand for the comforts of home, and I thought it would be a good idea if you had at least one of those things with you.”

“Thank you, WPC.”

Strange is hovering nearby, obviously at a loss for something to say. “Just tell him we’re all rooting for him” he finally says, given Thursday the impression that it’s something he has told Morse before, “And we are all rooting for you two as well, sir.”

He nods.

* * *

 

They have decided to try from Ombre Street, where it all began. Thursday half-expects the Marquis to show up and demand to know what they are doing here, but he doesn’t. Typical. He never does anything that is expected of him.

Jakes is reading the instructions at the bottom of the map again. “Turn around three times widdershins, then make a door – I’ve made a door before, as you know, sir, but widder –“

“Strange looked it up. Means anti-clockwise.”

Thursday can’t help but think that it’s one of those things Morse would just have known.

Jakes frowns, but does turn around three times before making the cuts in the wall. “Thy could really invest in some real bloody doors” he mutters.

“Pretty sure there not being any is the point, Sergeant” Thursday answers.

When he’s done, they consider it their best bet to simply try and… push.

Despite a part of Thursday insisting that it shouldn’t be possible, the wall gives in and swings backwards as if part of it’s hung on hinges.

There is nothing but darkness behind it, but an old darkness, a darkness that is dangerous and wild and untamed and never will be anything different.

He takes a deep breath. “no time like the present.”

Jakes nods.

They walk through.

The wall closes behind them immediately.

**Elsewhere**

It is pitch black. Strange as it sounds, in all his other excursions into Below – which he can now that he has returned remember with startling clarity – Fred has always been able to see. Granted, the light was defuse and weak at times, but it was always there; and he is relieved when he hears Jakes fumble for the candlesticks Trewlove gave him. He moves to hold them for him.

The sound of a match being struck, and then the light of two candles penetrates Below in a way it probably hasn’t for a very long time. It feels almost unreal down here; as if it knows that it doesn’t belong here, that warmth and the feeling of home have no place on this old way to a world Above forgot about centuries before.

“At least it’s not cold” Jakes announces.

Fred supposes that is something, at least.

To their surprise, they are soon climbing up what seems to be a small hill. Then again, upwards being downwards and downwards being upwards – that sounds exactly like the Below Thursday remembers.

“You said you had dealings with Below before, sir…”

“Yes, but I’ve never been in this part.” He sighs. “Matter of fact, I probably only ever got to see the smallest part. No idea how large Below truly is.”

Sometimes, the thought that it simply has no borders has crossed his mind.

“At least we seem to be on the right track” Jakes announces, studying the map. “I just didn’t realize that this was supposed to be a small drawing of a hill before –“

A rustling sound behind them makes them stop.  

**Elsewhere – Ten years and four weeks ago**

**_Endeavour, the Marquis has discovered, has the freedom of the Underside. The Baron must have bestowed it on him – he is one of the few who can and occasionally still do so._ **

**_It speaks of trust, and honour – two things the Marquis has always been careful to avoid; and yet Endeavour at times seems just like any other citizen of Below, trying to do his best to struggle through, making deals and bargaining like the rest of them._ **

**_Unless he prevents wars or saves people. Another two things the Marquis has never much paid attention to._ **

**_And yet he helped him when he asked._ **

**_Somehow, he has the feeling he has known him for much longer than he has, which is of course easily explained when he considers the nature of time Below._ **

**_And somehow, he knows that Old Saxon knows what’s going on, and she knows he knows, but she’ll never tell him._ **

**_After their little adventure, he considers it best to avoid Endeavour for a while. Just so people don’t get strange ideas like thinking they are friends or anything like that._ **

**_And then the rains start._ **

**_Really, it was only a matter of time before they returned. The weather of Oxford Above has made a habit of withdrawing Below when it’s done in the good old city of dreaming spires; sadly, it has also come to the conclusion that the people Below would enjoy it more if it simply saves it all up and then treats them to days and weeks of wind and rain and thunderstorms on end._ **

**_This time it’s rain. Water, water everywhere. The Floating market soon turns into a literally floating market, the shepherds have to take their flock to a dryer place, and – well –_ **

**_The Marquis remembers that Endeavour lives on the first floor of Lonsdale college. The first floor._ **

**_By now, the floods have reached a considerable height._ **

**_It’s nothing to him, of course. What does it matter whether or not Endeavour drowns? People get lost in Below all the time. It might actually be that Endeavour perishing might save them from a serious troublemaker, in the long run. After all, someone who can prevent a war probably also knows how to cause one._ **

**_And yet, here he is, shortly after the thought occurs to him. Sanding in front of Endeavour’s abode._ **

**_The water is already dangerously close to his windows._ **

**_The boat he… acquired for the purpose drifts towards them of its own account. Just as well. He’s never been that good with boats. He doesn’t like things that can be overtaken by current when he wants to go somewhere else._ **

**_He knocks on the window. It’s thrown open immediately and Endeavour stares at him. “Old scoundrel! To what do I owe the pleasure?”_ **

**_“Oh, you know” he says evenly, elegantly jumping into the room while Endeavour ties his boat to the ledge, “I wanted to see if you’ve drowned yet.”_ **

**_“Someone like me always swims on top of things. You needn’t have worried.”_ **

**_“I didn’t” he says, but he is afraid the lie is all too transparent._ **

**_“I was busy carrying my stuff upstairs. I don’t think it should make it past the fourth floor, do you?”_ **

**_“It’s unlikely” he says. “Wy do you leave so far down, anyway?”_ **

**_Endeavour looks at him, frowns, shakes his head, shrugs. “Just seemed convenient at the time.”_ **

**_He files the knowledge away for later. There is a story there, and one it might be a good idea to learn._ **

**_“Anyway, you can take my LPs. But be careful; I know exactly how many there are, and I will keep an eye out on the next Market to see if there are any pieces being sold.”_ **

**_As he takes the box, a feeling he has only rarely experienced washes over him. It takes him a few moments to identify it as guilt. He tries his best to shake it off – how pathetic to feel guilty while carrying records, and really, feeling guilty in general – but somehow can’t seem to._ **

**_There is something about the records…_ **

**_He concentrates on helping Endeavour carrying his possessions upstairs. He really has amassed a rather impressive collection of useful things. Well, useful for life down Below._ **

* * *

 

**_Soon after they are done, a voice rings out. “Endeavour, I just wanted to check – oh, Marquis de Carabas. I didn’t expect you here.”_ **

**_It’s Old Saxon, standing in the doorway, surveying the damage._ **

**_“It’s quite alright, my girl” Endeavour says cheerfully. “The old scoundrel showed up top help. I didn’t lose any of my possessions, just have to wait until the place dries out, that’s all.”_ **

**_“In that case, you’re welcome to stay with me” she immediately says, and to the Marquis surprise, something flickers for a moment in Endeavour’s eyes, something that’s almost like a memory, and very nearly like pain._ **

**_“I can’t impose –“_ **

**_“You wouldn’t be imposing” she says firmly. “Shall I help you pack?”_ **

**_He chuckles. “Nah, I’ve got it. But you’re welcome to make us a cup of tea.”_ **

**_“Only too gladly. Marquis, will you be joining us?”_ **

**_He meets her eyes and wishes he hadn’t. “No, thank you, I have to be on my way.”_ **

**_“Undoubtedly you have a few more favours to wring from helpless people” Endeavour replies. “Don’t let me keep you. See you around. And…” he hesitates, just for a moment. “I owe you a favour.”_ **

**_He doesn’t even ask what kind of favour. He needs to get out of here._ **

**_Soon enough, he is walking fast down the riverbank, not really caring where he’s going._ **

**_No matter where he will end up, it won’t be far enough to escape the knowledge in Old Saxon’s eyes._ **

**_The knowledge that he would give anything for not to posses himself._ **

**_The Marquis de Carabas just did something for someone for no other reason than he_ ** **cared _._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly the puzzle pieces are coming together, my friends.


	19. Chapter 19

**Elsewhere – ten years and four weeks ago**

_It takes him a while to catch on. At first, he doesn’t think anything has changed. He still listens to his record, he is still looking for a way out, he still tries his best to fit in Below without getting mauled by whatever decides he looks like lunch today._

_And people have been more and more respectful, as of late. He suspects it has to do with slaying the Beast and gaining the freedom of the Underside, although why no one else could do that, he has no idea. Maybe it’s because he’s an Abovener? After all, he should know best that people Above kill each other all the time… maybe he’s considered something of an expert?_

_He can’t help but like the Marquis more and more, either. Granted, he was the one who dragged him to kill the Beast in the first place, but the man he met when he first came here would have left him there, instead of doing his best to help him._

_Something has shifted between them, or maybe just inside of him. He can’t say._

_And then he realises._

_He’s sitting down, head leaned back, eyes closed, listening to Händel. He is doing his best to remember the details of life Above; how incredible it sometimes seems, that he could just go into shops and buy the things he wanted instead of waiting for the next Market and hoping he can find someone who is able to procure what he needs…_

_His eyes open. He stares at the ceiling as it slowly dawns on him that his memories seem strangely… flat._

_For example, he can no longer remember DI Thursday’s sandwich routine, but that’s not all. No, there’s a curious lack of… interest. As if it doesn’t matter whether he remembers or not._

_And then he has to remember why it is important that he remembers, and –_

_Morse is panting, even though he hasn’t moved._

_He doesn’t know what will happen when – if,_ if _– he forgets._

_He only knows that he’s scared of it._

* * *

 

_A couple of days (and the realization that he now can tell how much time passes Below is another thing that he’d rather not dwell on) the Marquis shows up demanding a drink. That’s another thing with him – he never waits to be invited; no, he arrives at your doorstep with the air of someone who wants to have a drink, and who knows he’s going to get it._

_“You haven’t been about much lately” he says, sipping the whiskey Morse had to promise several favours for. “People are beginning to talk.”_

_“People are always talking” he says tiredly. “It’s Below.”_

_“That may be true, but you gave turned into something like a celebrity, you know” he says simply._

_“You mean, like you?”_

_The grin the Marquis bestows on him is ironic. “No, not quite like me, Morse… Not quite like me.”_

_And in the darkness of the fading day, he could have sworn that he adds a quiet “Yet”, but then again, he could be mistaken._

* * *

 

_It’s during the next Market. A man he doesn’t know and who yet seems familiar steps up to him. “Morse, am I right?”_

_“Peregrine?” the name slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself. It doesn’t make any sense. But what does, anymore? He’s not in the mood to make a deal, anyway; he’s desperately trying to find something that will help him hold on to Above. Although in his darker moments, he sometimes thinks that it’s helpless; if music can’t do it anymore –_

_He’s occasionally wondered if he should ask Old Saxon for help, or even the Marquis; but they belong to Below, they have no concept of life Above, at least not from a practical perspective (well, unless he were interested in life Above in the Elizabethan age, and that’s not really helpful) that he can’t imagine it could lead to anything._

_He doesn’t know why he knows the man’s name. But that is just a small mystery here, where the impossible becomes possible on a daily basis and getting a meal is more difficult than slaying the Beast._

_“I heard you had the freedom of the Underside bestowed upon you by the Baron:”_

_“That is correct.”_

_“In that case, I have a small task you could undertake…”_

_He really shouldn’t have done it; but the fact is that he’s running low on ford, and Peregrine promises him a big enough favour that he’ll fill his cupboard for weeks if he succeeds._

_Really, what choice does he have?_

* * *

 

_He’s heard of the shepherds._

_Mostly because Old Saxon has warned him again and again not to go near them. Under no circumstances, if he recalls correctly._

_But it feels like he’s already losing himself, so what’s the worst that could happen?_

_As it turns out, it’s almost the end for Morse._

Get the staff, _Peregrine ordered him. Now, he’s pretty sure he’s also been warned about never trying something like that, but with his head all scrambled these days, how can he be certain?_

 _The thing, someone else who is like Morse but at the same time very different will say much, much later, is that the shepherds don’t really_ make _you do things; they simply find thoughts in your head that tell you what you want and the_ thoughts _make you do things._

_And so Morse is suddenly climbing up a hill, intent on joining the flock, his memories of Above once and for all draining away, when he’s dragged out of their reach._

_“What –“_

_“What’s your name” the Marquis hisses, shaking his arm. “What. Is. Your. Name?”_

_“Morse” he answers after a few seconds of confusion, “You know that.”_

_He lets go of his arm and breathes, “For now, yes.”_

_Dear God, it almost seems like he is worried. “I – thank you. I owe you –“_

_“Don’t.” It’s a word like a slap, spoken in a way he never wants to hear again, not even from him. “I will speak to Peregrine. He’s my brother” he continues, and now Morse is more than a little confused. He has no reason to reveal – “Just go to the stall next to Smith. There’ll be enough food for you there to last a while.”_

_“But, Marquis –“_

_“Don’t tell anyone” he hisses and then he’s gone, without a goodbye as usual, but without a dramatic gesture either, which is not at all like him._

_Morse blinks._

_As strange as it sounds, he’s learned two very important things:_

_One, Peregrine is not his friend._

_And two, the Marquis is, for some reason he can’t even begin to comprehend, on his side._

**Elsewhere**

Thursday studies the beautiful women who have started to circle them. There is something strange about the, something not quite human, but then they are Below –

“Lamia” Jakes breathes.

“What?”

“When I was – when Endeavour showed me the parchment, sir. We met them. He said they take away people’s life and warmth.”

“Oh, the little Abovener remembers us!” one of them calls out, and their laughter rings out, laughter cold and crisp, like a bell on a winter’s day.

“That’s Velvet” Jakes tells him. “En – Morse didn’t seem too keen on her.”

“That’s right, Morse” the voice calls out. More laughter. “We remember more than most Below. We remember when he was still called Morse. We remember how much he wanted to go home… and how Below took him like it takes all.”

They are stull circling them, but not coming any closer, and suddenly, Thursday realizes. He nudges Jakes. “The candlelight. They can’t come too close to it.” He’s not sure how or why he knows, but he is absolutely certain. What did Trewlove say? The safety of home. And whatever these women are, it’s not something that belongs there.

Jakes nods and grips his candlestick tighter.

“Of course, we could take you to him. We know all the ways of Below, you see. I just told you we remember what others forget. There will be a prize, of course.”

According to Jakes, that would most likely be a life. Thursday thinks fast. If they can get jakes to Morse – he did say Morse owes him a favour – and get him back – what’s his life against that? He’s reached the end of his career anyway, and he’s responsible for taking Morse here in the first place. As long as they get him back, what does it matter?

“Sir!” Jakes is gripping his forearm, obviously having guessed what he’s thinking. “Don’t. Morse seemed to think that they – well – I don’t think they honour deals.”

It’s probably the biggest insult he could have thrown at them, and it helps little that Jakes doesn’t know what he’s done as the one called Velvet hisses.

“Sir –“ Jakes repeats.

“Listen” he says urgently, “If it helps, if you can get through to him –“

“You would have far more chance of success at that than me, sir, and you know it!”

Another hiss – really, he’ll later think, it helps them greatly that Jakes has upset them, because it suddenly makes Thursday realize just how crazy it is that they’re arguing about life and death when they can’t even be certain that the way will lead them to Morse.

They must have gotten into their heads somehow.

And then he remembers the salt.

He drops his candle.

“Sir!”

“Silence, Peter Jakes” Velvet says happily as Thursday steps up to her. And indeed, Jakes seems routed to the spot, unable to move a finger or say a word.

That’s Below for you. Whenever you think you’ve figured it out, there is something magical happening, something you would never have seen coming even if you had a suspicion…

Thursday quickly draws the packet of salt out and throws some of it on Velvet.

And then the screams of the Lamia fill Below and it is too much, it feels like his brain is on fire, their shouts fill their minds and –

“Sir? Sir!” Jakes helps him up. “How did you know –“

“I didn’t. I just had a hunch.” He’s always found they help greatly, Below. Or at least, more than they would in Above.

He relights his candle on Jakes’ and they march on.

“Sir” he eventually asks, “I’m sorry, but… why – how –“

“Oh, you mean why I became the expert on Oxford Below?” He grins wryly at him. “It was an accident, really. I was young and curious, and when the first case presented itself in London…” he sighs. “The Marquis was there, too. Apparently he’d decided that Oxford Below was too dangerous for the time being. We eventually almost got killed by the shepherds and the elephant – I mean a man with the head of an elephant.”

Jakes blinks. “I have spent too much time thinking about Below because this almost made sense.”

Thursday shrugs. “Once you understand the rules, it’s not – “ he stops talking because it sounds too much like something the Marquis would say, and that’s not someone he wants to emulate. “What I meant top say is, once you learn who is trustworthy… mind, that’s not an easy task, and everyone could still betray you for a piece of bread, but at least it makes things a little bit easier.”

Jakes nods, and they trudge on. “What I don’t get” he finally begins again, “is why the Marquis was so keen on Morse. He seemed to focus on him right from the beginning, like…” he trails off.

Yes, Thursday thinks, like Mason Gull, who, because Morse was taken by Below, is still out there in the world Above. “He must have his reasons. He usually has.”

And usually they are awful reasons to boot.

Suddenly, the way seems to lead downwards. He’s not quite sure how, since he doesn’t remember them crossing the crest of the hill, but he won’t complain.

And somehow, it simply seems more natural to be walking down. Perhaps because of the very name of Below, maybe because of something else.

It doesn’t matter.

They are on their way.


	20. Chapter 20

**Elsewhere**

How are you planning on getting him to come back up with us, sir?” Jakes eventually asks.

For a moment, Thursday doesn’t answer because it’s the question that has kept him awake at night. He knows that Morse would – did – want to go home, but with Endeavour it’s another matter entirely. Try as he might to deny it to himself, he seems to have grown comfortable Below, as comfortable as one can be done here, anyway; and add to that his missing memories –

“I think we’ll try and make him curious.” It’s the one thing that doesn’t seem to have been impacted by this. His need for knowledge.

Jakes nods. “Makes sense. He was very insistent when I didn’t want to tell him why we are trying to save our colleague.”

“Maybe that was proof that he still remembers deep down, though” Thursday suggests hopefully.

Jakes look sceptical but doesn’t answer.

They walk down the path. It grows dirtier the longer they are on their way. Thursday isn’t surprised. He’s just lad it’s not fallen into disrepair, too.

“What are the chances” Jakes begins, “Of the Lamia being the most dangerous things we could possibly encounter – “

And then they hear the hissing.

* * *

 

The Marquis learned long ago to read Below. Oh, everyone does, to a certain extent; you either do or you end up dead rather quickly; but he knows this place, knows it to the very marrow of its bones.

If he were in any way romantic, or even honest, he’d even admit he loves it, but there is no chance of that.

His point is – he can usually tell when something is happening. Granted, something has been going on for days now, but this – this is even _more_ than that.

He’s walking near Endeavour’s abode, debating whether or not to call on him. Ever since Morse showed up with Thursday, something annoyingly feeling like a piece of the conscience he discarded long ago has returned with a vengeance, and even though he knows it was for the good of Below, it’s strangely difficult to look him into the eyes now, and not just because he tends to guess what he’s thinking in a way that he must have picked up from Old Saxon in the days when he was still living with her and thought he was going home.

Peregrine has already commented on whatever it is the Marquis is currently experiencing, and not even the thought that Endeavour clearly prefers him to his brother brings him much solace.

But back to the problem at hand.

Below is buzzing. There is something that knows what’s going on, and it’s almost purring with the knowledge.

Something is happening.

It’s only when he realizes that an aura of… darkens, almost sadness, hangs around Lonsdale, as if it is already abandoned, that he learns what’s going on.

“So” he mutters to himself, “They have actually made it Below.

* * *

 

“Whatever you do, don’t look into its eyes” Thursday hisses. He may never have met a basilisk before, but he knows the stories.

“And what are we supposed to do?” he asks rather uselessly.

“Well – “

Thursday is desperately trying to remember how to deal with basilisk, but his thoughts seem to be stilting, wilting away; and then he remembers something else, that sometimes, the turning into stone takes a while –

He doesn’t even care about himself, but he had no right to drag Jakes into this.

And then, it is over, he blinks, his thoughts returning to where they belong in his head.

What he sees in front of him is a little old lady stepping over the dead basilisk, a rather dangerous looking knife in her hands. “That is one problem dealt with. Inspector and Sergeant Strange, I believe?”

He nods.

“You can call me Old Saxon.” She points. “You should keep walking.”

“But…” Jakes begins, clearly feeling confused. Thursday isn’t. He’s learned that, when you get lucky in Below, you better learn to cherish it, since it’s not likely to happen again anytime soon.

“Don’t ask” she says quietly. “Just… be good to him, you hear?”

She proceeds to vanish into thin air.

“That was…” Jakes begins, then shakes his head. “I can’t even begin to say how that was.”

“Me either Sergeant, so I think it is best if you do in fact continue on our way.”

* * *

 

She returns to her tower. As always, it responds to her moods, and feels isolated and lonely in the evening air.

She resolutely blinks back a few tears. There it is. She always knew that she cared for Endeavour too, deep down, even if she was closer to Morse.

She’ll miss him.

But this – this is right. He has given Below so much, he deserves to return Above, as he wanted to, so long and yet so short a time ago.

And he’ll be happy there. His friends will make sure of it. She doesn’t think of them as colleagues; anyone who is ready to stare down a basilisk for someone is automatically a friend of that person in her book.

A squeak.

She turns around to find Mistress longtails. “I know” is all she says.

Another squeak. “You weren’t sure? Sometimes even you underestimate me, if you don’t mind me saying, mistress.”

She runs up to her and nuzzles her ankle. It’s one of the greatest of honours, and despite the pain in her heart, it makes her smile.

* * *

 

He should have known something was about to happen. They have been making good progress, and that is rather unusual when working a case – as he has come to think of it since it makes things aiser, at least for the time being – Below.

Granted, everything about this is unusual, but still.

And then suddenly, they stumble across something impossible.

Now that, when it comes to Below, Fred is used to.

But still – this is almost too much, even for him.

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

**_The whispers about Endeavour continue to grow. The Marquis still isn’t entirely sure who or what he is, but he is useful, and strong, and clever._ **

**_Three things that normally would mean he’d try to avoid him or openly despite him altogether, but despite them, he_ ** **likes _him._**

**_Likes him enough to have helped him out with his things when the flood came._ **

**_And to his deepest mortification, people in Below have noticed. Endeavour isn’t just Endeavour anymore, the fixer, the clever clogs; no, Endeavour is the Marquis’ friend, ask anyone._ **

**_Peregrine has a field day when he finds out. “Look at you, brother” he drawls one day as he walks up to him, “And here I thought you didn’t play well with the other children.”_ **

**_The worst thing about this is not even that he’s making fun of him, no, it’s that he’s reasonably sure Peregrine knows what’s going on. He usually does._ **

**_And it’s one of the most irritating of his many annoying qualities._ **

**_“I don’t” he says simply, “And I would be interested to know what you think is going on –“_ **

**_“Oh, come on. You know what I mean. You and your little friendship with Endeavour. Underside’s buzzing with it. Helped him out when he was about to drown, did you?”_ **

**_Like all things, rumours in Below tend to get exaggerated._ **

**_“No. I simply helped him move his things higher up.”_ **

**_He expects that sometime soon, when everything’s dry again, he’ll be called upon to help him move down. Endeavour seems more comfortable closer to the ground. He has yet to find the reason._ **

**_“Exactly. You helped him._ ** **And _without charging him. Or did he offer you anything?”_**

**_“No.” the word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, telling his brother the truth when he’d much rather not, and Peregrine grins at him in that awful way of his, the way that tells him he’s found his pressure point now and won’t forget it soon._ **

**_“Well, well, brother mine, that is news.”_ **

**_And he disappears._ **

**_At least the Marquis knows he’ll keep his secret._ **

**_If only because he doesn’t want anyone else to know what he knows._ **

* * *

 

**_After this scene, he decides he needs to find out more about Endeavour. Who he is, where he came from – when he met him._ **

**_Because that time is once again moving in a circle, that eventually, he will know exactly who or what Endeavour is and was, and perhaps he has already known in the past. That is just how time tends to work, here. It’s one of the reasons he went to Below so long ago. He never felt comfortable, living a linear life._ **

**_It’s a Market day, and he knows that Endeavour is going to be there. He’ll simply go through his rooms at Lonsdale and then show up fashionably late, as is his wont. No one will suspect anything._ **

**_Except for Old Saxon, but then, she always seems to suspect him of something, these days._ **

**_It is not a long way to Lonsdale. He takes a moment to appreciate that Endeavour has indeed found a very nice abode for himself. It’s airy and sunny and out in the open – all things which should disqualify it as a hiding spot in Below, but endeavour lives by his own rules. Just like the Marquis de Carabas himself, if he may say so._ **

**_Once he’s entered the apartment, he takes a careful look around. There are some who use traps so that nothing that’s theirs should be touched by someone else; there are those who use spells; there are those who simply ensure that once one sets foot into their place, the dogs are let loose ._ **

**_Nothing has happened yet, that is true, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful._ **

**_It’s only after he’s taken a careful look around the room that he realizes Endeavour has chosen that strangest of all precautions of doing absolutely nothing to prevent people coming in. In Below, it’s remarkably effective because most would scoff at the idea and immediately assume something very dangerous is lurking in the shadows._ **

**_So he’s free to move around. He just has to be careful that not even a speck of dirt gets displaced._ **

**_Endeavour would know._ **

**_He probably still will, but it doesn’t hurt to try._ **

**_And so, he starts looking for evidence. Others would probably call it “snooping around” or something equally undignified, but that has never been the Marquis’ habit._ **

**_Really, Endeavour is remarkably organized. Most people (and others) he has met prefer a kind of organized chaos, like Old Saxon. But no – everything here has its rightful place, so that endeavour can grab it at a moment’s notice if needed. And he bets that is often the case. He gets called for at all hours, now._ **

**_He carefully goes through the drawers. He can’t afford to miss a single clue._ **

**_It’s in the bedroom (The existence of which rather confuses him; he doesn’t think Endeavour is one of those who needs rest) that he finds it._ **

**_In the bedside drawer, there is the ID he remembers Endeavour using against the shepherds._ **

**_What did he say? It helps him. Somehow, he manages to channel enough belief through it to escape their clutches again and again._ **

**_The only one Below who can do so._ **

**_The Marquis carefully picks it up. Really, it is an old, torn, dirty police ID._ **

**_But –_ **

**_He opens it. Oxford city police._ **

**_Oh. So maybe he has connections to his old acquaintance, Fred Thursday –_ **

**_And then a flash. Flashes. Of the future. And the past. And something in between._ **

**Big desperate eyes, the eyes of someone who wants to go home and is practically begging –**

**“You’ll never go home.” He can’t. Morse and Endeavour will both do great things for Below. The Marquis can’t risk that changing.**

**_He drops the ID back into the drawer. “So that is who you are, Constable Morse.”_ **

**_Somehow, he doesn’t feel particularly clever or proud at the moment, even though he figured it out._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I now know how many chapters are left :D


	21. Chapter 21

**Elsewhere – four weeks and ten years ago**

_It can no longer be denied that his suit as seen better days – or rather, that it is in tatters. One Market morning Morse checks his appearance in the mirror and sighs. And to think the inspector once admonished him for not tucking in his shirt. He is not even certain he can call it a shirt anymore, now._

_There’s no way around it. He’ll have to get new clothes at the Market._

_It’s ridiculous to be so upset over a suit – the sergeant who smoked would probably have made a quip if he ever found out – but it feels like another part of his old life that’s slipping away. It’s difficult enough to keep track of it all; to remember his job and the small flat he rented and that he had a sister; he doesn’t need to worry about clothes, as well._

_At least he knows exactly where to go for a good bargain. A while ago, he helped out one of the best seamstresses of Below; one of the mushroom people had set his sights on Lilah and attempted to send her a letter filled with spores so she would come join him, but Morse heard rumours and was careful to send a letter of his own in time. She was very thankful; she won’t ask for much._

_He decides he might as well accompany Old Saxon, like he did when he first arrived, so long ago. Soon enough, he’s strolling up to her tower. It’s become easier and easier to find his way in Below, ever since the freedom of the Underside was bestowed upon him._

_He knocks and enters, knowing well that she doesn’t stand on ceremony. “Old Saxon?” he calls out._

_“In here, Morse” she replies and he walks into the next room to find her in the process of loading her arms with her numerous bags._

_As always, he goes to relieve her, even though it’s not necessary._

_In the process, he finds himself looking out the window. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, watching the sunlight dance across the roofs of Oxford, or at least Oxford that once was._

_“Yes” Old Saxon says, but she appears rather sad all of a sudden._

_They get to the Market without any major incident – granted, there are a few half-hearted attempts at pick-pocketing before they reach the boarder of the Market Truce, but one, most grow disheartened once they realize who they are trying to steal from, be it Morse or Old Saxon, and two, he knows how to handle a knife at this point very well indeed._

_He leaves Old Saxon at her stall and goes to fund Lilah. She usually prefers to set up at the outskirts of the Market, so that’s where he tries his luck first._

_The Marquis greets him as he’s strolling down yet another colourful market lane. He’s far from sorry to see him._

_Yes, he’s normally only looking out for himself, but he’s also helped Morse out several times, and he’s not bad company, if one can live with his dramatic antics._

_“Marquis de Carabas, you don’t happen to have seen Lilah, have you?”_

_“Don’t tell me you have enough of these wonderful rags” he answers._

_“I can hardly wear them until they fall off.”_

_“Did you find that out all on your own?”_

_He good-naturedly rolls his eyes. It really is a beautiful day and he is not intending to spend it fighting. “Yes, I do something have ideas on my own.”_

_“I know. That’s the pity.”_

_Again, he is not bad company, even if he would love to control everyone and everything in his orbit. But then, everyone has their faults in Below._

_And in Above too, Morse supposes, although he now and then finds it difficult to recall._

_The Marquis does indeed lead him to Liliah, who is glad to see him, and a little too thankful, all things considered. He simply sent a letter. He doesn’t like it when people try to manipulate others. Never has. Granted, the Marquis spends most of his time doing exactly that, but Morse likes to think of him as a friend – or at least as something close to one – so he tends to overlook it, unless he’s attempting to achieve something very nasty indeed, and that hasn’t happened in a while._

_The problem with finding anything to actually wear. Lilah is an excellent seamstress, but she doesn’t exactly sew clothes that would be considered normal in Above._

_The Marquis tries to help, in his way. “You’ll need a jacket. Something with lots of pockets.”_

_It’s sound advice. It’s always a good idea to carry as much as possible with you. One never knows what one’s going to need._

_Morse doesn’t find anything then Marquis’ coat, but he didn’t expect to. There is only one coat like it, and a leather jacket he does find. Granted, it’s not what he would or even could wear on the job, but it’s the closest he’ll come to his suit._

_Trousers and shirts are more difficult to come by. He eventually has to resign himself to wearing loon pants and a shirt that looks like it might have come straight from the Victorian era._

_He goes to try the clothes on while the Marquis is busy examining what else Lilah has to offer. As if the man would ever wear something different than he is right now._

_When he steps out of the small tent Lilah has set up as a changing room, he asks, “And, what do you think?”_

_Lilah is only too happy with his choices, but there is something strange on the Marquis’ face as he takes him in. For a second, it looks like guilt, and then like shame; in the next, it is gone and he simply says, “I suppose you will have to make do. Not all of us have a natural fashion sense.”_

_He bestows an ironic bow on him. “I will do my best, Mein Herr Marquis.”_

_Yes, he wasn’t mistaken._

_That’s definitely shame in his eyes._

**Elsewhere**

Thursday has seen his fair share of strange things in Below. As a matter of fact, if you asked him before today what was the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, he would still have claimed that fleeing from shepherds with a man with the head of an elephant, one named after a fairy tale character and his annoying but dangerous brother would make the top of that list.

But all of that is fated to change.

Because, as he and Jakes step out on what is a very familiar train platform, he sees himself.

Or rather, he sees the team as they struggle to apprehend the killer, as they did that fateful day.

Before he can even process the sight properly, he has already reacted and dragged Jakes back into the shadows. If there is one thing he feels sure of – and there are precious few of those things, down here – it’s that it wouldn’t be good to meet himself.

He thinks quickly. Somehow, they have arrived back at the moment where it all began – where Morse got lost; but they can’t have intervened then. Because if they had, then they wouldn’t be here in the first place, would they? Plus, if they do anything now, God knows what would happen. He certainly doesn’t want to accidentally harm any of their past selves, or worse, even get rid off them. That would change the present, and –

His head is beginning to hurt.

“What –“ Jakes begins. “But that’s impossible –“

“You get used to it” he answers tiredly.

“Shouldn’t we do anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like keep Morse from falling –“

“If we did that, we already would have, and we wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s –“ Jakes blinks. “God, that’s confusing. He watches himself get dealt another blow and winces. “That hurt.”

And then Morse helps Fred, and he and the killer vanish.

They watch the team react; Fred is weak enough to turn away not to see the expression on his own face.

“What now?” Jakes asks.

“Wait –“ he has an idea. A terrible, mad idea, but what other idea could work in below?

It’s something at least.

Once they’ve cleared the platform – once the Marquis (and this time, Fred is really tempted to change history, if only to go out there and punch him in the face again) has lead them away, he walks up to the rails and looks down.

No sign of Morse, or the killer. He’s always been reasonably sure that below simply took the suspected; at least the Marquis seems to think he wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

As for Morse –

They know what happened. Or at least suspect what happened. It’s enough to make him feel nauseous, when he thinks about it too much.

“Sir?” Jakes asks. “What –“

“You keep the map” he decides. “And if I’m not back with Morse in – let’s say, whatever feels like two hours, you go home.”

“What –“ he looks from Fred to the rails, then  back at him. “You are not telling me you are going to jump after him!”

“Do you have a better idea?”

He looks at him again and thinks, apparently desperate to find an argument against it. “But – but that’s madness!”

“And what here isn’t?!

“Sir, Morse wouldn’t want – “

“I can’t tell what he wouldn’t want at the moment, can I? because I brought him here, and look what happened! He was taken by this place, turned into something he isn’t, something he would never have wanted to be! It’s my responsibility to get him back. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Jakes hesitates, then swallows. “Alright. Let’s go:”

“Sergeant, I am not going to allow –“

“No, sir. Morse is my friend. I have every right –“

“I order you to stay behind.”

“And how are you going to enforce that down here?”

“What are –“

“With all due respect sir, this is insubordination. You can fire me for it later.”

Jakes looks as determined as Fred has ever seen him.

Looks like there’s only one thing to do. “If you’re sure.”

He nods.

Alright then.

Fred takes a deep breath. “One, two, three –“

He expected the rails to hurt, but he feels nothing.

He simply lands in a – in a very empty and dark space. As he’s groping around for something, anything, he finds his candle and takes a deep breath. At least they still have light. “Jakes?”

“Here, sir!”

“Wait a second –“ he manages to light the candle. The light doesn’t really penetrate the darkness, but it feels reassuring to carry it nonetheless.

Jakes stumbles up to him. “What is this place?”

Fred thinks. Much as he is loathe to admit it, you tend to slip into the ways of Below if you’ve been around long enough. It’s probably how it got Morse. “I think it’s – I think it might be the Below of below.”

“Sir, sorry to say it, but I am starting to think you might have gone a bit mad.“

“Would that really be a surprise?”

Jakes doesn’t answer. Perhaps it’s for the best.

They walk on.

The map isn’t really a help here, when they can see nothing, but they have to find some mark they can identify eventually.

And then they hear something. It’s the slow steep of someone who has been walking for a long time, and without a clear destination. Fred has heard it often enough, on the beat, meeting the homeless.

“Hello?” he calls out.

At first, there is nothing. Just darkness and silence and their hearts beating fast. They could very well be attacked any second, but on the other hand, if there is even the smallest chance –

And then –

And then.

Very quietly, as if he can’t quite believe it, Morse, the constable he knows so well, his _bagman,_ asks, “Sir?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea behind the beginning of this chapter is that Morse is already far gone at this point, too far to notice it. Just thought I'd make that clear. ;D


	22. Chapter 22

**Elsewhere**

The Marquis would lie if he said he hadn’t thought of it. For one, because he always makes sure to think of everything that could possibly happen, just to be prepared; and two, because he has been living with this very possibility for quite some time now.

And it hasn’t gotten easier, no matter how many times he has tried to resign himself to it. It must be because he lacks practise.

But still – he didn’t think of this.

Underside is vibrating, humming, screaming with worry. He can feel it under his skin.

Aboveners.

They never think things through, when it comes to Below.

He runs.

* * *

 

“Sir?” Morse – _Morse_ , it really is Morse, not Endeavour, even in the weak light of his candle, Fred can see that – repeats, his voice sounding brittle. “Morse!”

They hurry over to him. He looks exhausted and dirty, but still very much like the constable they have been trying to save; Fred has to take a few deep breaths before he manages to ask, “What happened, lad?”

He figures it is the best thing to say. It’s open to interpretation, at any rate.

“I – I fell on the rails. I don’t know where the suspect went.” He actually seems to feel guilty that he didn’t hold onto the killer, but Fred couldn’t care less if he tried.

“How long have you been here?” Jakes exclaims, and Morse blinks, taken aback by the question.

“I don’t know. A few hours, I think. I’ve been trying to find a way out since I fell off the platform –“

Fred’s eyes meet Jakes’ and they silently agree that they are not going to tell Morse the truth. It sounds too strange, too bizarre for him to believe them anyway. “We know the way out” he says firmly. “Well, at least we have a map.”

“A map, sir?” Of course Morse would immediately question why they didn’t use it in the first place, and he feels more than a little disgusted at himself as he tries to allay his suspicions.

“Don’t ask, Morse.”

“But –“

“Trust us” Jakes interrupts him, “It’s better this way.”

Normally, Morse would probably not accept the request, but he is exhausted and understandably more than a little confused.

He’ll never lie to him again after this, Fred swears to himself. But first they have to get him out of here.

Morse steps up to them, every bit his awkward bagman, and he has to suppress the urge to touch him, to make sure that he’s actually here. “May I see the map, sir?”

He hands it to him and Morse, tired and dazzled as he is, still studies it with his usual intensity. “I think I stumbled past something that looked like this hill some time ago…” he mumbles. “this direction.”

He points and Fred can’t help but think that this somehow makes it even worse. He actually made it _near_ the way out but didn’t know.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

As they walk in the direction Morse pointed out, he sees Jakes sneaking glances at his constable, and he can’t blame him. He keeps checking up on him too, searching for any traces of Endeavour, but there’s nothing to see. They somehow managed to find him before he became whatever Below turned him into.

Slowly, it’s getting lighter, and he takes this as a good sign.

“Sir” Morse begins tentatively, “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but –“

“Please, Morse. Let’s just get out of here. We can talk later” he says tiredly. He doesn’t quite know what he will tell him, but he’ll come up with something eventually.

His tone of voice seems to do the trick, for miraculously, Morse falls silent.

* * *

 

Yes, something is definitely off. It’s like an undercurrent, running through the whole of Below.

If they are really doing what he thinks they are doing –

He has to act fast. He has to stop them.

* * *

 

They’re almost there. Fred still can’t believe it that they actually made it – and that they somehow ended up with Morse instead of having to drag a kicking and screaming Endeavour back Above against his will. God alone knows what fighting skills he picked up here, too.

Would have picked up.

And what will happen when they return? Will they even remember everything that happened or will they believe they found Morse right away?

Only they can’t have, because Jakes only asked the rats for help a short time ago, and –

God, this is confusing. All the more reason not to tell Morse. He’d never stop dwelling on it, with that mind of his.

And he really does look utterly exhausted. “And you can’t say how long you were here?”

He shakes his head. “No. I was just trying to find a way out –“ He rubs his face with his right hand, looking younger than ever.

Fred has already decided that he’s going to take him home with him tonight. Let Win feed him up a little. Doffer him the spare bed.

He clasps his shoulder. “Nothing happened, Morse. That’s the important thing.”

He meets Jakes’ eyes, bunt the sergeant says nothing.

Morse looks at the map again, and there’s a strange expression on his face. Fred doesn’t particularly care for it.

“I could have sworn I know this place…” he mumbles. “But I can’t…”

“You said you passed it, right? That’s why it must look familiar” Jakes says quickly.

“I suppose” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead, “But still –“

“it’s Below” Thursday interrupts him. “It’s this bloody place, confusing you. Don’t think about it.”

“Oh, really?” a voice he hoped never to hear again interrupts them.

They turn to find the Marquis standing behind them, and for the first time ever, Fred sees him actually angry. He’s seen him pretending to be annoyed and put out and inconvenienced but never actually trembling with rage.

“What do you think you are doing, you fools?” he hisses.

“Saving our colleague” Jakes bravely replies.

“Nice try.” And then, he proceeds to ignore them as he steps up to Morse. “Look, Constable… you can’t leave Below. If you do, terrible things are going to happen.”

**Elsewhere – ten years and four weeks ago**

**_Now that he knows who Endeavour is and how he came to be Endeavour in the first place, the Marquis is careful to avoid him for a few days until his memories, both of the past and the future, have settled down somewhat._ **

**_What gets him the most is how much he_ ** **cares _._**

**_It’s clearly for the good of Below that the young constable should come to stay and turn into the man he knows. He is going to do away with – something – that memory isn’t quite clear yet, probably because he hasn’t yet lived through it – and he’s going to prevent wars and keep the shepherds at bay and bring something like order back to the Underside._ **

**_Yes, it will be a very good thing for them Below once he arrives, which the Marquis knows because he has already arrived._ **

**_It wouldn’t make sense to an Abovener, but he’s too used to such things to be confused._ **

**_Still – why does he care? That’s what disquiets him. He is not supposed to care. That he likes Endeavour came as a nasty surprise, but that he apparently was – is – will also be fond of Morse is simply disconcerting._ **

**_It means there is guilt in his future. And pain. And something like his conscience rearing its head for the first time since he was a boy._ **

**_Of one thing, however, he is absolutely sure._ **

**_He needs to speak to Old Saxon._ **

* * *

 

**_He finds her conversing with a few pigeons, but he’s not about to let himself get distracted by something so normal._ **

**_“You could have knocked” she says._ **

**_“I bet Endeavour doesn’t.”_ **

**_“Oh, he knocks. He’s polite. But you know that.” She turns to him after saying goodbye to the pigeons. “You remember, don’t you?”_ **

**_It’s rather annoying that he’s never mastered her skill of remembering everything all the time. It would make things easier. He nods._ **

**_“Knowing you, you probably snooped around where you shouldn’t have.”_ **

**_“I had to –“_ **

**_“Of course you had to.” She gets up. “But then, you usually do what you have to, don’t you?”_ **

**_“Endeavour will do –_ ** **has _done great things for Below. It was a good day for us when he was taken.”_**

**_“Yes. It was and it will be. And yet – you_ ** **knew _that man. That food, honourable Abovener, and you helped turn him into what he used to be, what he is today, what he will be.” Her eyes soften. “Not that I have any rights to tell you that. Didn’t I help too? I took him in and explained Below to him.”_**

**_“You didn’t take his music away” he says, surprised at the sincerity in his voice._ **

**_“No. But I never warned him, either, as you already reminded me.” She looks out the window. “Like you said... it was for the good of Below.”_ **

**_“Yes.”_ **

**_“Still… there is a chance. There is always a chance.”_ **

**_“A chance for what? Redemption? What makes you think I am looking for that?”_ **

**_She looks at him, then, and her eyes chase him away._ **

* * *

 

**_Once he’s reasonably certain he can face Endeavour without giving anything away, he stops slinking around in the shadows, already guessing what’s about to happen._ **

**_He turns out to be right when he strolls up to him. “Hey, old scoundrel. Stopped hiding, have you? What was it this time? Not wanting to see your brother? The Baron trying to have you beheaded again?”_ **

**_“You know me so well” he answers, knowing he will draw his own conclusions._ **

**_Endeavour grins. “Well then. I actually have a proposal for you…”_ **

**_And soon enough, they are off to the next adventure._ **

* * *

 

**_Peregrine finds him later. The Marquis is busy standing dramatically at the top of a boulder overlooking the river. “Hello there. Heard you saved a few damsels in distress and made peace between a few warmongers.”_ **

**_“I am not sure they were damsels.”_ **

**_“You are turning into a regular hero.”_ **

**_“Trust me, I am not that” he says, turning to him. It was Peregrine who suggested they make sure his music couldn’t shield Morse anymore. Is. Will be._ **

**_And the Marquis agreed, agrees, will agree because that’s all he can do. Time may work in its own way in Below, but things have to happen. That is the rule. You can’t simply undo them because you feel like it._ **

**_“If I were you I would stay clear of him for a while. We can’t have him exercising too much of a good influence on you. How would that reflect on me, if my brother were to turn_ ** **decent _?”_**

**_And that’s it, really – another reason they can’t save Morse. Long before Endeavour ever showed up, they needed someone like him in Below. Crazy, yes, but they are all mad here – no, that’s not what the Marquis meant; he meant someone decent, as Peregrine put it. And even when he makes deals, even when he’s fighting, even when he kidnaps and steals and threatens, Endeavour always stays decent, always has a good reason, is always on the right side._ **

**_Yes, they need someone like him._ **

**_The Marquis wasn’t wrong when he described as their police force. Isn’t. Won’t be._ **

**_And yet._ **

**_And yet._ **

**_“Oh, grow up. Sulking won’t help anyone.”_ **

**_Least of all Morse. Even those he trusts won’t try and get him back Above, no matter how much he wishes it._ **

**_Seven years. Seven years of his years, although he won’t age._ **

**_The Marquis hasn’t quite remembered how it finally happens, how Morse turns into Endeavour, but he’ll find out soon enough._ **

**_He looks out on the river. Morse used to walk around here quite a bit, and Endeavour is fond of it as well._ **

**_“Come one, you can’t be angry at me. After all, you did it –“_ **

**_“I am not angry at you, Peregrine”. He is speaking the truth. “I am angry at everything else.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger!


	23. Chapter 23

**Elsewhere – ten years and four weeks ago**

**_The Marquis de Carabas has made it a habit of his never to be surprised, no matter what happens to be thrown into his way. Sadly, the surprises that still crop up now and then don’t seem to agree with this sound reasoning, and so he has reluctantly learned to deal with them, often by calling Endeavour to help. He usually doesn’t annoy him too much or demand immediate compensation like Peregrine, although he tends to grin in that way of his that tells him he knows exactly what his involvement will cost the Marquis later._ **

**_Still, his presence makes things easier._ **

**_Usually._ **

**_Memory is a funny thing. If you don’t happen to have complete control over yours, like Old Saxon, it tends to do things its own way by choosing what to keep and what to throw away, what to let you know and what to hide from you, what is important and what is not._ **

**_If he ever masters Old Saxon’s trick, he is going to have a word with his._ **

**_He himself would have given the circumstances of Morse’s arrival in Below top priority. After all, it was how this all started, although it can also be reasonably claimed that it’s how it ends, as well._ **

**_Time and Below. At least he’s never bored._ **

**_He is the first to find Iliaster’s body, which is more coincidence than anything else, really; but as soon as he sees what used to be a rather inoffensive beggar, he knows._ **

**_He remembers._ **

**_Today is the day that Morse arrives and begins the long, painful journey to become Endeavour._ **

**_Painful for more than just himself, although the Marquis would never admit it._ **

**_But whichever way he looks at it, one thing is certain._ **

**_He needs to get Endeavour out of the way._ **

* * *

 

**_Word travels fast in Below, which means he simply has to wait. He doesn’t have to call Endeavour himself._ **

**_And he shows up soon enough. “Old scoundrel! So you go around finding bodies now?” he studies him. “Presuming you weren’t the one to put it there in the first place.”_ **

**_“I assure you, if I were to commit murder, I would choose a more famous victim.”_ **

**_“Alas, poor Iliaster” he muses. “Let me –“_ **

**_He goes to study the corpse, but the Marquis steps in his way. “I don’t need you for this.”_ **

**_His eyes widen. “Amazing. And if I worked for you, I might actually listen.” He moves to take another look, and he intercepts him again._ **

**_They don’t touch. One doesn’t simply do something like that in Below._ **

**_“Come on –“_ **

**_“I have a task for you” he says, thinking quickly. “And if you go directly, I’ll owe you a big favour.”_ **

**_“A big one? From you?” Endeavour throws the body another glance. It is obvious he’s realized that he just wants him gone, but still; the Marquis doesn’t often grant big favours._ **

**_And they both know too well there will be other bodies. They have a habit of popping up._ **

**_“So what is this task that is so important?”_ **

**_“The shepherds have been growing restless again. I think it would do them good to be a little more… staff-less in the near future.”_ **

**_“You want me to go and get the shepherds’ staff!?”_ **

**_Even for him, it will be difficult, but it will ensure that he’s away for quite some time._ **

**_“You can destroy it if stealing is too difficult for you.”_ **

**_He rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, Mein Herr Marquis, don’t worry, I’ll go and do your bidding.” He wags a finger at him. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to learn the full story!”_ **

**_He never will, if the Marquis can help it._ **

**_He watches Endeavour skip off and sends the message to DI Thursday that will ensure he will come to Below in the first place._ **

* * *

 

**_As he walks to their meeting spot, he carefully examines and locks away his emotions. He’s not of a very introspective disposition – the chance that he might learn something he wouldn’t like is too high – but he knows this won’t be easy._ **

**_He didn’t mean to grow to like Morse when he first met him as Morse and not Endeavour. By the time, he had already decided that it was good for everyone involved that Endeavour should stay in Below, so helloing the process along had been a matter of course._ **

**_And_ ** **then _he grew to like him._**

**_He’s still not quite sure how it happened. Endeavour is very useful, and surprisingly enjoyable company, when one can put up with his chatter, so really, it’s not all that confusing that the Marquis likes_ ** **him _; Morse was quiet and withdrawn, fond of his music and desperate to find a way home, and yet –_**

**_And yet._ **

**_When he arrives, he studies him, without letting any of them know that he is doing it, of course._ **

**_The differences are striking. While Endeavour always seems to wish the world to take notice of him, Morse is quite, unassuming and observing; just as clever, but with his sense of right and wrong still firmly in place, and not nearly as curious about the strange things he’s about to see as he is going to grow._ **

**_Those eyes…_ **

**_The Marquis fights down a swell of something that might be pity, or sorrow, or, worst of all, guilt as he studies the group. He idly wonders what they think of Morse. He doesn’t have to worry about this affecting them for long, naturally; as soon as they step foot into Oxford Above, they will forget all about him once Below has taken Morse and transformed him._ **

**_And that will happen in the blink of an eye. One second for them, seven excruciating years for Morse. And then three more as the factotum of the Underside._ **

**_Showtime. He just has to act like he doesn’t know him and wait for things to run their course._ **

**_He takes a deep breath. Lies. Betrayal. Deceit._ **

**_All things he’s good at._ **

**_Usually._ **

**_“Ah, Inspector… or may I call you Fred?” he greets him before catching himself; he almost looked at Morse again._ **

**_Yes, normally this is much easier._ **

**Elsewhere**

“What do you _mean_ , we can’t?” Thursday demands, stepping in front of Morse. “We _are_ doing it!”

Morse doesn’t say anything; he’s studying the Marquis with these eyes of his. He can almost hear his thoughts flying by at high speed.

“There is no pint to this. We are leaving. Jakes, if he tries the slightest –“ and Thursday tries to grab Morse by the forearm and drag him away, but to all of their surprise, he stands his ground.

“No, sir. I think we need to listen.”

He suddenly doesn’t look tired anymore. And he seems… older, somehow. It makes the Marquis think of the day of the ordeal and the look in his eyes when he came out of the cloister with the spear in his hands.

“Constable, I am ordering you to –“

“No, sir.” Morse looks at the Marquis, frowning. “I know him. Not from today, though. And not from anywhere I can remember. But… I know him. And we have to listen what he has to say. It’s important.”

Of course. That mind of his. Whether he is Morse or Endeavour, it will always find a way to get to the truth.

“Morse” Thursday states, clearly growing desperate, “There I no need for you –“

“On the contrary, sir, I think I’m the only one who can decide whether or not to listen to him.”

It’s bordering on insolence, and if there is one thing Thursday hasn’t expected, it’s that.

The sergeant he has with him seems to understand somewhat better what is going on. “I think he’s right” he says quietly.

“Sergeant!”

“This is about Morse, so…” he shrugs helplessly.

Not that they could do anything even if they wanted to. The Marquis has something to do, and he will. “You know you are walking on one of the Old Ways, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t know anything!” he cries out, clearly exasperated.

“I –“ Thursday states but the Marquis just glares at him. “Now, that’s not nice Fred, keeping things from him.”

“You do nothing but!”

“Ah, but the things I don’t tell him would fry his brain, so there is a difference there –“

“What are the Old Ways?” Morse interrupts, shaking his hand, looking more and more uncomfortable.

“See, that’s what the rats didn’t tell you, and neither did Old Saxon” he says evenly. “The Old Ways… you know they were a way for Below and Above to communicate, to meet on the same plain, so to speak? Well, currently, Constable, that means that you are being shown every memory you could possibly make in Below, including those that haven’t been created yet.”

Morse is rubbing his forehead. It really is rather remarkable that he hasn’t yet gone insane, the Marquis reflects, and tries to ignore another twinge of pain.

“But once we get him Above, that will stop” Thursday counters and he has to admit he is right.

“But…” Morse takes a few steps towards the Marquis, his eyes wide and questioning. “I – I prevented a war?”

“You will.”

“And I – I slew a giant Beast?”

“You will.”

“And I – I helped people?”

“You will. It’s all a bit complicated, you’ll get used to it.”

“He won’t get used to anything!”

“Sir, please.” Morse looks pale but determined, trembling under the weight of memories he has yet to live through. “Marquis de Carabas. What would happen if I returned Above now?”

“All of what you remember – it won’t have taken place.”

“So there’ll be a war?”

“Most likely.”

“And the Beast will wreak havoc.”

“Yes.”

Morse hesitates. Thursday and Jakes can only watch them, reduced to mere spectators. “And… if any of this happened… would it have consequences in Above?”

And, selfishly, the Marquis wants to tell him _Yes_. He wants to say that there will undoubtedly be consequences for Above, that they warriors will find one of the Old Ways, that the Beast will come running.

Anything to keep him here.

But as he looks into Morse’s eyes, he finds he can’t lie. “I do not know. No one does. Not even Old Saxon.”

A small smile appears on his face, proving that he at least has a hunch who she is. “I see.” He shakes his head once more. “I shouldn’t know so much about Below, and yet it feels as if I have spent my whole life here.”

“Morse” Thursday steps in again, “That’s no concern of yours. Whatever he made you do – we can –“

“He didn’t _make_ me do anything” he says softly. “I remember that much. He manipulated me, I won’t deny that; did everything he could to keep me here; but there is something else I have learned Below – will learn in Below.” His gaze wanders over to the Marquis again. “Everything has its price, doesn’t it, even if one names oneself after a fairy tale character” he continues with a loop-sided smile that’s somehow a mixture of his own and Endeavour’s.

Below started changing him long before they suspected it, the Marquis realizes. Maybe he was always meant for this.

“But Morse –“ Thursday tries again.

“No, sir. I know how this sounds – I think it’s mad myself – but –“ he takes a deep breath. “I have a purpose to fulfil here.”

“No, you don’t, there is nothing –“

“And who else is going to do the things I am going to? Do you really think the Marquis de Carabas is going to step up?”

“Thank you very much for your confidence” he continues to be honest, despite his attempts not to, “But I am past all of that. I’ve known you as Morse, and as Endeavour. It’s the dawn of a new time, for me.”

Morse nods. It’s clear they’re the only ones who understand completely what’s going on. “I won’t remember making this decision, will I?”

“No.” Below has a way of protecting itself. If Morse remembered, he could never become Endeavour, the one it needs.

He nods again. “Just as well.”

“Morse –“ Thursday repeats his name as if it’s going to change anything.

He stands up straight. He doesn’t quite look like Morse, but nor does he completely have Endeavour’s demeanour; he is a mixture of both, Endeavour Morse in his truest, purest form, every aspect of his personality at peace with the others. “No. Like I said, I have a task to complete – several, in fact.” He smiles again, if weakly. “I was never a very good policeman Above, was I? At least I will do a better job Below.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility you are taking on without warning” Sergeant Jakes says quietly.

Morse shrugs. “Someone has to do it.” He turns to Inspector Thursday. “It will be alright, sir. I promise.”

He swallows, “We lost you the second you stepped foot Below, didn’t we.”

“It’s not your fault, sir” he answers quietly, “And for what it’s worth, neither is it anyone else’s.”

The Inspector glances at the Marquis.

“Ah” Morse says with a laugh that sounds almost, but not quite, like Endeavour’s. “He has a lot to answer for, but that doesn’t mean I would call him guilty, either. Trust me; I just met him but I have known him for years.”

Thursday then surprises them all by drawing him into a quick hug, “There is nothing I can do to make you change your mind, is there, lad.”

He draws back and shakes his head. “Not this time.” He smiles. “I guess I’ll see all of you.” His last words are directed towards the Marquis. “Until then, old scoundrel.”

And then he walks right into Below, head held high, without looking back once.

The marquis clears his throat, hoping they will believe he just wants to get their attention. “Come on, I’ll take you back another way. No one knows those old ones. Could be dangerous.”

“The worst has already happened” Thursday says bitterly, his expression now one of grief since Morse can't see him anymore.

“I think you will find that this is not true, Inspector.”

The Marquis doesn’t know how right he is.

* * *

They are passing the river when a voice says, “I don’t think it will be so easy, Marquis.”

When they turn around, they find themselves looking at Old Saxon and Endeavour. The Endeavour of today, the Endeavour who has done everything Morse promised to do, and more.

“It’s not finished yet, my friend, although you tried” Old Saxon adds quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, just because I am curious... how many of you saw this coming?


	24. Chapter 24

**Elsewhere – ten years and four weeks ago**

_It’s only a matter of time, now. Morse is growing more and more like the man the Marquis has come and is going to come to know every day. He himself doesn’t seem to be aware of it; and he appears happier each time he sees him; and yet – and yet –_

_He doesn’t like to dwell on it for too long. Morse has to become Endeavour; otherwise, what would happen? He semi-remembers, semi-foresees many things he will do that are ultimately for the good of Below; he couldn’t help him, even if he wanted to._

_And Old Saxon knows it too, even if the look in her eyes every time she sees Morse reminds the Marquis that she has learned anew what heartbreak feels like._

_Not that he feels the same. He doesn’t care for anyone, if no one cares for him._

Maybe _, a voice deep inside him whispers,_ if you tell yourself that often enough, you’ll eventually believe it.

* * *

 

_In the end, it’s just a trivial thing, compared to what else they have been through._

_The Baron has apparently done Morse the honour of calling on him (as he tells him with barely hidden sarcasm in his voice) to inform him that apparently the Duke of Anjou, as his neighbour calls himself, has been moving the border stones that separate their lands. And it seems that it’s now Morse’s job to deal with it._

_Naturally he drags the Marquis with him._

Yes _, he thinks as he watches him skip along the path,_ there is barely anything of him left.

_The pain the thought causes is as strange to him as it is unwelcome. It has been a long time, if ever, that he felt like this about another person._

_“Oh by the way, I have a plan now how to get out of here” Morse tells him._

_“And what would that be?”_

_“The Old Ways.”_

_“No one knows where they are.”_

_“Ah” he replies, his eyes sparkling, “Just means one has to find them, that’s all.”_

_It sounds almost simply, downright doable, when he puts it like that._

_They reach the border between the – well, the train platform and the fields of the duke. How he thought he could get away with placing stones on the platform is anyone’s guess, but he hasn’t been quite right in the head for a while now, even by Below standards._

_Which also explains why, as they are busy putting the stones back where they belong, his troops attack._

_Granted, they are not very magnificent troops. As a matter of fact they mostly consist of those who have to make a living in Below somehow, and didn’t gave anywhere else to go, and none of them seem too pleased to be fighting the Marquis and Morse. They both have even helped out some of them in the past._

_The Marquis has just disarmed another soldier (the man looks more relived than anything) when movement in the corner of his eyes catches his attention._

_It’s Peregrine._

_And he’s carrying a record player._

_Yes. It is indeed time. The Marquis knows that. Peregrine knows that. Below itself knows that._

_And yet he is surfside by his own reaction. He wants to run over, to wrench the player out of Peregrine’s hands, to stop this._

_But he can’t. This was decided a long time ago, maybe before Morse’s birth, maybe before Old Saxon’s birth; this is how it has to be._

_He turns away, not wanting to see Peregrine’s smile. Or worse, his pity. One of his brother’s worst qualities is that he cares for him in that peculiar way of his; and while it won’t be enough to make him feel guilty for what he is about to do, but then, the Marquis will probably feel bad enough for both of them._

_Morse is busy fighting off two soldiers at once. When he first came here, that might have been a cause for concern, but he’s learned a lot since then._

_The Marquis concentrates on the fight and tries to forget that Peregrine is standing behind him, ready to change Morse once and for all and replace him with Endeavour. He doesn’t succeed._

_And then, the first notes of_ Un Bel Di _fill the air, and Morse reels around. “What –“_

_His eyes are wide open, panicked, all the feelings of the ordeal he had to go through to get the spear that is even now hanging on a wall in his rooms at Lonsdale rushing back. He manages to kick one of the soldiers in the kidneys, and the Marquis wonders how long it will take for him alone to deal with the rest, since Morse will be preoccupied in a few moments –_

_As it turns out, he doesn’t have to do a thing._

_Because suddenly, Morse presses his hands against his ears and screams. It is a scream unlike any other the Marquis has heard before, a scream full of pain and loneliness and longing to go home as these feelings express themselves one more time before they are gone forever._

_The troops don’t hesitate. They simply run. The marquis wishes he could do the same, but he is rooted to the spot, unable to move._

_When the music stops, he doesn’t have to turn around to know that Peregrine is gone._

_He slowly makes his way to where Morse – no, not Morse – is curled up into a ball._

_“That was quite the trick, Endeavour” he says lightly._

_“Oh, don’t count on me repeating it” the man he just addressed unrolls himself and jumps up. “It’s quite unpleasant.”_

_He grins at him. “The fight was fun though, old scoundrel, wasn’t it?”_

_Yes, he is not the constable who accompanied him here such a short time ago anymore. There is a certain something missing behind his eyes, a look –_

_The Marquis has known for a while that he would miss it when it was gone._

_It still surprises him just how much he does._

**Elsewhere**

“So, are you finally going to tell me why you have dragged me here, my girl?” Endeavour sounds amused, if a bit wary, as he studies their group. “And why do you have two very depressed-looking Aboveners with you, Mein Herr Marquis?”

Thursday swallows. They went through all of this to get Morse back, and in the end, he failed spectacularly. He could only stand and stare as Morse decided to take everything upon his self, to give up his life just so he could help people. It was as if his tongue had been tied, as if Below had decided to keep him, and there was nothing they could do about it.

He waits for the lie that’s sure to come out of the Marquis’ mouth. He is not quite certain why Old Saxon brought Endeavour here – maybe she is under the delusion that it will bring them closure?

To say he is surprised when he hears the words “Really, Endeavour, you could be a bit politer to your boss” would be a vast understatement.

Endeavour stares at the Marquis, then glances at Fred and Jakes, then back again. “What are you talking about? Have you been at the shepherds’ again? Maybe had a drink or two with the mushroom people?”

“I have never been in better health.”

The expression on his face seems to belie his words; in fact, Fred cannot ever recall seeing the Marquis so ill at ease, downright unhappy.

Endeavour seems to agree, for he quickly steps up to him. “Marquis? Did the elephant do something? Has the Baron been after you again? Is this something to do with Peregrine?”

“No. It’s about you.”

Endeavour frowns, then smiles to placate him. “You know me, I don’t go in for making people unhappy. They get rather angry when you do.”

“Endeavour.” The tone in his voice manages to shut him up, which Fred has concluded is no easy task. “This is serious.”

He doesn’t have a quip in reply; he simply looks at Fred and Jakes again, then at Old Saxon, who gives him a reassuring smile. “I don’t…” he finally begins, then gets himself back under control. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Fred decides he might as well be part of the conversation. “Look, Mo – Endeavour. I know that you don’t remember how you got into Below, and that you probably haven’t thought about it for a long time, either, but… just four weeks ago, you were a constable in the Oxford city police.”

“A colleague and a friend” Jakes pipes up and Fred suppresses a smile.

“But –“ Endeavour blinks, and for a second, there is uncertainty in his eyes, but then he takes a step back and shakes his head. “Are you trying to convince me I am the colleague you’ve desperately been trying to find? The one – ” He looks at Jakes. “The one you talked about with such affection?”

“You are. You were.” He doesn’t really know how to explain.

He doesn’t have to, thankful, because Endeavour knows Below. “Technically it would be possible that time bent a bit to –“ he breaks off. “Why am I even contemplating this?”

“Because a part of you knows it’s the truth” Old Saxon says softly. “What you were isn’t gone, it’s just buried deeply.”

He only shakes his head again. “But I _belong_ in Below. I can feel it.”

“At the moment” she replies. “But Below turned you into Endeavour, and back when you were a police man, you belonged as much to Above.”

It helps that Endeavour trusts Old Saxon, Thursday realizes. If it was just them and the Marquis, they would probably not get him to trust them.

“Marquis?” he asks, and his voice is trembling ever so slightly.

He raises his hands and spreads his fingers. “Oh no, don’t pin this on me. I have done everything I could.”

“And a bit more, If I consider what must have happened if this is true, old scoundrel, wouldn’t you say?” Then smile on Morse’s face is a fond one and clearly makes him uncomfortable – which might or might not have been his intention in the first place. He turns to Fred and Jakes. “I – I’m not sure I believe you.” His eyes widen. “I am uncertain! That’s a first!”

Not really, but he seems ready to listen, which is more than Fred was expecting. The events of the day may well end up giving him whiplash. “You were transferred to the Oxford city police about four years ago. You have been my bagman ever since.” Alright, maybe he’s embellishing the truth a little, but right from the start, there was the unspoken agreement in the station that he’d taken Morse under his wing. “We’ve solved many cases together.”

“A copper” he muses. “Well, it’s not the craziest thing I have ever heard. After all, I do a lot of policing down here.”

“Yes” he hastens to add, “And you –“

“You were really big into crosswords” Jakes interrupts him, apparently eager to help. “Puzzles un general, really. Never could resist a mystery. And you liked opera. Even Puccini.”

Endeavour flinches. “That’s something I never thought I would hear. So you want me back because I listened to classical music and was good at the job?”

“No, Morse. We want you back because we care about you.”

“Morse” he mumbles. He glances at Jakes again, and Fred wonders if he’ll ever learn what the sergeant told Endeavour on that mad evening when he took him Below.

“Yes” he presses ahead. “Endeavour Morse. That’s your full name. We only used your last one, though because you don’t really care for your Christian one –“

“Not that I blame you, mate” Jakes says.

“You – you _do_ actually care. About me” Endeavour says, a hint of wonder in his voice. He clears his throat. “Doesn’t mean I have to go back upstairs, though: there is so much to do here –“

“No.”

It’s the marquis who has spoken, despite his insistence that he wasn’t going to. “That’s not why you have to return to Above.”

“You have another reason?” Endeavour folds his arms. “Let’s hear it.”

The Marquis looks at Fred then, and in his eyes, he reads the truth. He is letting Endeavour go. He is ready to give him up so they can have him back. It’s a selfless gesture he’d never have expected of him. “The reason” he says, gaze returning to the man who would have been Thursday’s bagman if he hadn’t fallen through the cracks, “is Morse.”

“That doesn’t strike me as –“

“You exist because he doesn’t anymore. In a way, he had to die so you could be. The life you live is the one you took from him. And it’s not fair. You’ve always been just, Endeavour; you’ve had your fun, now it’s his turn.”

“Where did you get the idea that I was _just_ from?” he asks, but it’s clear he only asks in jest. “And why do I get the feeling that I wasn’t the only one who did the stealing?”

“Because you weren’t. You will learn a lot of things if you choose to go Above – and I suspect you won’t like them. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

“You’ve never talked to me that way before” Endeavour says as he studies him carefully. And then he exclaims, “Are you telling me you are trying to do the right thing? _You_!?”

The Marquis smiles wanly. “It’s surprising what Morse’s influence can do.”

“He – you – were very nice” Old Saxon decides to re-join the conversation. “Kind. Gentle. And you just wanted to go home.”

“This is my home now” he argues, and Fred flinches despite his attempts to hide his emotions.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Endeavour turns to face Old Saxon. “Alright, my girl, there is more to this than just you trying to get the Marquis to do the selfless thing for once – quite a novelty; I will grant you that, but still –“

She doesn’t look abashed in the slightest. On the contrary, she draws herself up to her fuel height – still somewhat smaller than any of them – and declares, “And what if I have a plan?”

Before Endeavour can react, she continues. “Above and Below were connected once. There was contact between the people here and the people there. There should be again.”

“They can’t even _see_ us –“

“There are the old ways. And those two men, who you can’t believe care about you?” she asks quietly. “They kept your memory alive just so they could try and rescue you.”

He looks at them again then, and for the first time, Fred truly hopes that they are getting through to him.

“I won’t deny that it was selfish of me, speculating that you would be the one to do what must be done” she adds, taking his hands into hers and squeezing it. “But you are special, Endeavour. Or Morse. I had my doubts, but you are you still _you,_ whatever you call yourself. And if you return Above, but with the freedom of the Underside… there is no limit to what you could achieve.”

“It’s a little selfish, I will grant you that” he answers quietly. “But then, who isn’t in Below? In fact, it seems more and more as if me staying would be awfully selfish too.” He turns to Fred once more; his eyes are sparkling in a manner not unlike that he remembers from when Morse cracked a case. “It sounds like an awfully big adventure.”

Then, he hesitates. “I’ll miss this here, though.”

“You don’t have to” Old Saxon reminds him, “You have the freedom of the Underside. I told you.”

“Yes. But I’ll never be _this_ again, won’t I, Marquis?”

The Marquis, who after speaking last has managed to look rather uninterested, appears startled, then says, “No, I supposed not.”

He doesn’t manage to fool anyone into thinking that he doesn’t care.

“Excuse us”. Endeavour drags him into a corner.

“What –“ Fred begins.

“No one quite understands their relationship, Inspector. Least of all they themselves. Give them a moment.”

* * *

 

He didn’t want this. His plan was to make a grand dramatic gesture and disappear, and yet here he is, with Endeavour.

“I suspect” he says carefully, “That I’ll remember some things when I return to Above – some things that will make you look like –“

“A scoundrel?” he supplies, and Endeavour gives him a loop-sided smile.

“Something like that. I just want to say, no matter what I recall – I’ll always be your friend.”

“I highly doubt that, but thank you.”

“You never can just accept that people may _like_ you, can you?”

He shakes his head. There is no point in lying now.

“Then again, I almost couldn’t believe it myself just now, so…” he shrugs, then grins the last grin the Marquis will ever see from him. “I suppose you can’t tell me what to do, even though you normally love doing that?”

“No.”

“Thought so” Endeavour replies.

“Plus, I am rather sure you have already decided.”

Another smile. “You always knew me a little too well for my liking. Of course, it makes sense now – I suppose not many people leave Below with answers to the questions they never dared ask. Goodbye, Marquis.”

“Goodbye, Endeavour.” It’s the last time he will ever call him that.

* * *

 

Fred’s heart is beating wildly when Endeavour steps up to them.

When he hears his decision, he can barely believe it. “Guess I am going back to Above.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Elsewhere**

They don’t leave immediately. First, the go to Endeavour’s lodgings – the rooms at Lonsdale Jakes already visited – to give him time to gather his belongings. Fred’s heart aches when he realizes a record player and his old ID is among them.

When they step out, Endeavour looking as happy as he always does, Old Saxon draws him aside. Of course she does.

* * *

 

“Are you trying to say goodbye, my girl?” Endeavour asks, and she swallows. He means a lot to her, as did Morse, such a long and yet such a short time ago; but she has to let go if she wants this to mean anything, if she truly wants to reconcile Above and Below.

She nods. “Be careful.”

There is nothing else to say. She draws him into a hug.

* * *

 

Fred would be surprised if there wasn’t a catch, and of course Old Saxon tells them just after she’s said goodbye to them. “There will be an Ordeal. There always is.”

“Ah, the catch. I was waiting for it, really” the man who he hopes will be his bagman again soon answers.

“It won’t just be your ordeal” she says softly. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” she asks them. Fred looks at Jakes, but the Sergeant simply nods.

“Yes” he answers.

She smiles – or at least tries to. “Good luck.”

She then squeezes Endeavour’s hand and is gone the next moment; and when they turn their heads, they realize the Marquis has disappeared as well. “He stayed for longer than I thought he would” is all Endeavour says.

* * *

 

At first, he doesn’t realize where he is going, then he recognizes the path. It was Endeavour’s favourite walk along the river.

He hates himself for the sorrow he feels. No; that is not true; he hates that he _doesn’t_ hate himself. He hates that doing the right thing actually feels sort of good, even if it brings him pain.

“You did it then, brother.”

“Hello, Peregrine” he says tiredly. “Someone had to.”

After all, Old Saxon is right. Working with Above again might open the door for countless possibilities Below cut itself off from Above hundreds of years ago. And if anyone can bring the two sides together, it’s Endeavour. Morse. Whoever he happens up as.

“But _you_ didn’t.”

He is silent.

“Has getting to know him really changed him so much?”

No. Not Morse or Endeavour, per se. But having a friend, someone he could trust. Because they did trust one another, in the end.

And now that person is gone. Or will be gone. It doesn’t matter.

Below is no longer humming. It feels more like Below is holding its breath, waiting for what is about to happen.

There is a risk involved, and they all know it. What if the memories just jumble around in Endeavour’s head until he goes crazy? What if he can’t stand Above after having lived in Below for such a long time? What if simply can’t turn back into Morse?

And yet he chose this “awfully big adventure” as he put it.

It’s typical of Endeavour, really.

“What do you want, Peregrine?” he asks. “I am rather busy.”

“Yes.” He tilts his head. “I believe you are truly busy for the first time in a while.”

And this time, there is true pity in his voice and eyes. To his surprise, the Marquis doesn’t mind.

* * *

 

“I have never been here before” Endeavour tells them as they walk along the Old Way the mice showed them once more. He really is much chattier than Morse ever was, and Fred can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. God knows he wanted him to open his mouth more often countless times, and yet… “And I thought I knew most of the Underside. It tends to change things around now and then, of course, but still – “

“You wouldn’t have walked here before, if the ways have been forgotten, would you?” Jakes ask, for which Fred is thankful. He doesn’t think he could speak at the moment. A part of him is convinced that something will happen that will keep Morse here forever, probably at the last second right before they reach the threshold of Above.

“I suppose. But then, I must have been looking for it… before.” After a pause he says, “I did notice my memory seemed to be curiously lacking in places. But I didn’t think I’d ever lived in Above.”

“Maybe that’s what happens to most of you?”

“Old Saxon knows that she came from Above” he says thoughtfully. “But Old Saxon remembers everything, including the things that haven’t happened yet.”

Jakes chooses not to answer.

Endeavour keeps running forward, then behind them; Thursday supposes he’s just used to it. He also keeps talking, about the things he’s seen and experiences in Below, the things he is going to miss, the things he actually likes to think he never has to deal with again, and and and… It’s so unlike Morse Fred almost despairs.

Not even Old Saxon could tell them how Endeavour is supposed to turn back into Morse. Yes, there is an ordeal – and quite frankly, he would have been surprised if there wasn’t – but other than that, nothing. Apparently, they are supposed to trust a very old saying, or rather, a maxim all of Below believes in, in other words, to trust Below to do “what Below does best.” In that case, Fred would very much have liked it not having turned his bagman into Endeavour in the first place, but there is nothing he can do about it now.  

“Like I said, I’ve never been here before, so I don’t know what to expect” Endeavour says, as if he could read his thoughts, “But there’s one rule: If I tell you to run, you run.”

 _Fat bloody chance_ , Fred thinks even as he nods. He won’t risk the chance of losing him again because he thinks he needs to take on whatever Below throws at them on his own.

“Could you two at least act as if you’d consider leaving me behind in case the need arises?” he demands.

“Sorry, I don’t think we can do that” Jakes says firmly.

Endeavour sighs. “It’s worth it just to try and return to Above to figure out what made former me so special in the first place.”

In truth, Thursday can hardly answer that; mostly because – well –

He stands by what he thought earlier, and what he believed when Endeavour went to see him in Above. He never doubted that this was _someone else_ , someone completely unlike his bagman. But he seems to have been mistaken, because… The longer he spends with Endeavour, the more similarities he sees. At first, he could only see the differences, but in the end, they are two sides of the same coin. He is still as clever, still as eager to solve the problems that cross his path, and underneath all the brazen demeanour, there is still that good heart that almost led him to get eaten by a tiger what feels like forever ago. In truth, he would like there to be a complete, striking difference between Morse and Endeavour; to think that he’ll never think of the one once he has the other back; but it’s simply not to be. Whatever Endeavour is was hidden in Morse, and vice versa.

They have been walking for a while when Endeavour suddenly stands still and motions for them to do the same. Then, he slowly takes a silver knife out of one of the innumerable pockets of his leather jacket.

“What –“ he begins quietly.

“The unliving” he answers just as softly.

“Unliving? Shouldn’t that be the undead?” Jakes questions, but Endeavour shakes his head.

“I only ever heard stories about them – no reason to think they don’t exist, of course, not here. But… to answer your question, Sergeant: in order to be undead, they would have had to have died in the first place. And they didn’t. They are – they weren’t cut out for life Below, and they withered away. But they didn’t die. And now they are after the lifeforce of others, a bit like the Lamia.”

“If you’ve only ever heard stories about them, how do you know they are here?”

He waves for them to join him and once they do, Fred is no longer surprised. The temperature has dropped considerably from what it was just a few feet ago.

“First sign. Cold spots.” Endeavour exhales and “Silver is supposed to work against them.”

“Make a run for it?” Jakes suggests.

“They hunt in groups.”

“Of course” he mutters before continuing, “Wouldn’t the Lance be a better –“ Endeavour put it in his knapsack before he left his home.

“The lance was of use against the Beast, but not made of silver.” He is rummaging in the small package he made up in the eternal and long bygone afternoon in Lonsdale. “Here.” He presents them with two knives, then hesitates, “Is there any chance you would follow my advice?”

“None” Fred says simply. When he looks at Jakes, he seems downright insulted that he would think him capable of it.

Endeavour sighs. “You wouldn’t last a day in Below.”

“Doesn’t matter. So what do we do with the knives?”

* * *

 

Fred will later think that sometimes, stories and rumours are rather unhelpful, especially when it comes to vanquishing the… unliving.

For one, they could have just said “Stick the knife where their hearts should be” instead of babbling on as to “where used to be the centre of life”.

Also, they might have mentioned just how strong they are.

Not… bodily. They don’t have any real bodies left, just the shapes of them, and they barely manage to restrain him as he tries to fight himself free.

No. He means the… life force draining part.

They are clearly doing something, although Fred can’t quite figure out or even see how. He is suddenly feeling incredibly tired, and only his determination to get Morse and Jakes out of here is keeping him on his feet.

Worse than the exhaustion, however, is the hopelessness that engulfs him. At least they were warned that something like this might happen; otherwise God knows what he’d do.

One of the forms in front of him crumbles and he looks into Jakes’ wide eyes. The sergeant’s panting. “Morse” he manages to breathe.

They have ganged up on Morse. Endeavour. Apparently, he is even well enough known that people who aren’t people anymore realize he’s a threat.

He is still on his feet, but swaying as he stabs another of them  through the chest.

Suddenly, both the exhaustion and the hopelessness are gone as adrenaline surges through Fred. Jakes seems to feel the same; they made quick work of the few stranglers who are still around them and not trying to kill Endeavour and run over to him.

“I told you to get out of here!” he wails when he sees them, sounding desperate, proving that he too is not immune to the feelings the unliving impart on them.

And then all of them bury Morse underneath them.

“Morse!”

He will never know how they manage. They shouldn’t even be able to get through to him. Yet somehow, they make it, and later, much later, on a sleepless night, he will wonder if Below itself was trying to save him. After all, they said he did a lot for the people there.

Even so, even when they have reached him and found that his eyes are closed and his breaths are faint, they would probably not stand a chance if not for a voice he’s heard a few times, long ago, calling out “Come and get me!”

Always good for a surprise, Peregrine.

And then there are two other voices.

It seems Old Saxon and the Marquis were not going to let Endeavour go through this alone, after all.

When he blinks next, they are alone with Morse. He quickly kneels down next to him and checks his pulse. Thank God. His heart is still beating.

“What now, sir? Are we going to carry him?” Jakes asks, already leaning down.

And then, Fred has an epiphany. Not a normal one, like he would have during a case; no, one of those one only ever has Below, a guess, an idea that seems to come right from his subconsciousness, and feels like it’s been in his head forever. “We can’t.”

“What?” Jakes blinks.

“This – this is it. He has to wake up first. He is probably busy sorting out his memories in his head right now.”

“But –“ And then Jakes looks at him and says, “Oh.”

When he doesn’t continue, Thursday asks, “What?”

“Nothing, sir, it’s just… you had the same look on your face when you talked about the Marquis, when we first came here, the day –“ he stops talking.

 _That day_ , Fred thinks. _It seems like a century ago_. “This” he says firmly, once more not aware how he knows, “Is the ordeal. Both for him and for us.”

“I don’t under –“ and then Jakes realizes too and falls silent.

Yes. This is their part of the ordeal.

Sitting here, in the dark, knowing the unliving can return any moment, and worst of all…

Unsure whether Morse will come back or not.

_Normally when he wakes up in an unfamiliar place, he takes his time to figure out where he is and who kidnapped him this time. Oh, it doesn’t happen often – most know better than to try; but now and then a newcomer decides to be cocky and he neds up in some basement or drain or wherever they think they can put him and he won’t be able to escape._

_This is different. He realizes where he is immediately because it’s not unfamiliar. He’s never seen it like this – from the inside, so to speak – but he knows._

_This is his mind._

_Trapped in his own mind by the unliving. He never heard that they could do this._

_Then again, Old Saxon said something about an ordeal. This could be it._

_It just doesn’t seem very… ordeal-y. He doesn’t really have an idea why he suddenly considers himself an expert in such matters, but still._

_He gets up and looks down at himself._

_Strange. He’s wearing a suit not unlike the two Aboveners who are accompanying him._

_He’s always been careful to preserve his signature look. It’s for Endeavour what the Marquis’ coat is for him, with the added bonus of not looking overly dramatic every time he turns around._

_So why…_

_And then there are two doors._

_He is still standing in the middle of nowhere in his own mind, and yet there are two doors._

_How interesting. Certainly unlike anything he’s ever seen before._

_Really, if this is an ordeal, it doesn’t appear to be very difficult._

_Except for the fact that there has to be a catch because there always is. That’s the thing with ordeals. You never known what’s going to happen. It’s one of the reasons Endeavour has never been keen on them._

_Two letters appear on the doors. One now sports the letter E, the other a M._

_Apparently he has to choose._

_There is nothing except for the letters to distinguish the doors. The are made of simple wood, and they are just standing there in his mind. He could walk around them, but that’s not the point._

_He first approaches the one with the letter E. As he touches the doorknob, he is almost (only almost, otherwise, he’d hardly be Endeavour, wouldn’t he?) with a feeling of familiarity. Safety._

_The exact opposite happens when he touches the other one. There Is pain, and loneliness, and longing, and all the other things he’s always been so careful to avoid._

_He reels back._

_So this is the ordeal. There is no doubt in his mind that he has to choose the M door if he wants to get out of here – or at least do what Old Saxon seems to think he will. But he’ll have to feel it all. It’s awful; it feels like years of agony all experienced at once; and yet – and yet –_

_There was hope somewhere in there, hidden deep like in Pandora’s box._

_He takes a deep breath._

_He’s never been one to back down from a challenge –_

* * *

 

_He manages to force himself through the door, then blinks._

_He is sitting at the bedside of a man who is quite obviously dead, and his side hurts, and there’s a young woman asleep on a chair –_

Dad _._

_The reality of it all makes it hard to breathe._

_He blinks._

_Still sitting, but on an uncomfortable wooden bed. There are bars in front of the window. He is looking down at his hands, praying – praying?_

_Yes. He is praying. For – for –_

_He blinks._

_A brick is thrown in his face and he remembers that he’s talking to a madman, a murderer._

_He blinks._

_And blinks._

_And blinks._

_A thousand memories, a thousand feelings associated with them are inflicted on him. He is drowning, he can’t do this, he is going to stay locked inside his own mind forever –_

_And then a voice._ “Morse? Morse, are you in there?”

_DI Thursday._

_His inspector._

_He suddenly feels like he can breathe again._

Thursday keeps talking to him. It’s the only thing he can do.

_After he’s heard his name – it is indeed his name, he knows that now – the memories change. There are happy ones now, too. There is Mum reading to him, and the day he first arrived at college, no matter how it needed; there is DI Thursday wanting him as his bagman and Mrs. Thursday trying to get him to have dinner with them and WPC Trewlove cracking a case by knowing how to play chess –_

_For a long time, or so it seems, he has ignored the gaps in his memory. Not anymore. They are filling out, telling him exactly what he lost, what he left behind –_

_He knows who he is, now. Constable Morse._

_No. Not just plain Constable Morse. He’s seen too much, done too much for that._

_He is Constable Endeavour Morse of the Oxford City Police, he who has the freedom of the Underside._

* * *

 

His eyes finally flatter open. It takes a moment or two for them to focus properly on Fred.

“Lad?” he hesitates. It seems silly to ask _Is that you?_ Even though that’s what he desperately needs to know.

He tries to speak and only ends up coughing.

“Take it easy” he encourages him, even though he doubts either Morse or Endeavour has listened to that command once in their existence.

Another cough. Then, he slowly breathes, “Sir?”

“Oh thank God.”

It’s Jakes who utters those words; Fred doubts he could even if he tried. So he just nods and squeezes his shoulder. “It’s quite alright, Morse. Let’s go home.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Elsewhere**

Despite his attempts to make Morse take it easy, he insist on leading the way. “It’s quite clear where we need to go, sir.”

He tends to disagree, but then Morse has spent so much time – _too much_ time – in Below that he can hardly say anything against it.

And this is Morse, there can be no doubt about it. He moves like his bagman and talks like his bagman; and yet Fred has the suspicion that something in him has changed.

Or maybe it is him. After all, this place can mess with your head. He doesn’t even want to think about what Morse must have seen when he was locked into his own mind – the only information he gave them.

“You really shouldn’t have tried to save me” he says quietly as they walk back to Above. “It’s dangerous.”

“So we should just have left you here to rot?” Jakes asks blankly. “I don’t really see that happening.”

“You’re probably right.” Morse smiles then, one of his shy half-smiles, nothing like Endeavour’s grins, and for the first time in a month, Fred feels like he can truly breathe again.

“Win invited you to dinner. No buts” he adds when he realizes Morse is about to object. “That reminds me –“ he hands him the sandwich. “That better be gone by the time we arrive home, or she’ll riot. And I don’t think you’ll escape the spare bedroom tonight – you know Win.”

Another somewhat shy smile. Yes, this is Morse alright, a little banged up, a little hurt, a little bruised, but good enough For Fred. He always has been.

“Here” he suddenly says and pushes at the wall; a moment later, a door opens. A door that wasn’t there before and won’t be there in a minute.

Fred and Jakes exchange a glance. It might just be that Morse has kept a few… talents he learned Below.

Then again, maybe not. It’s Below. Above is a different matter entirely. 

* * *

 

It’s evening when they emerge Above, and Fred buys a newspaper to realize, with considerable relief, that it is indeed still the same day.

It seems the whole station has been waiting for them, because as they step into the squad room, Superintendent Bright is the first to see them. “Constable Morse!”

“Good evening, sir” the lad says politely and Thursday realizes why he’s been feeling slightly off; Morse’s usual embarrassed demeanour is gone. Now, he happily accepts the handshakes and questions bestowed on him and even does his best to answer them.

He glances at Jakes. Seems like he has noticed it too.

Well, he’s always wished Morse could be a bit more assertive. And there is genuine happiness and affection in his eyes as he talks to the others – there can be no doubt of that. Fred allows himself to relax.

They got him back.

* * *

 

When it’s time to call it a night, the lad doesn’t protest when he announces he’ll take him with him. Morse obediently gets in the backseat and relaxes when Fred tells him to; but as Jakes drives them back home, he sees Morse throwing curious glances out the window, as if getting to know the city all over again.

He supposes that’s what it feels like. He has been gone for a decade, as weird as it sounds.

* * *

 

The door is thrown open before they’ve even reached it. “Morse!”

Win gathers him into a hug before the lad can protest, but, to Fred’s surprise, he is quick to reciprocate, even being brave enough to wheeze out, “I am glad to see you, Win.”

She draws back, beaming brightly. “Come on in, dinner’s on the table!”

Joan, while a bit confused, seems to be glad to see the lad too, and kisses his cheek. Morse answers with a happy little smile.

**Oxford – a few hours later**

He sneaks out of the house at three am. As much as he enjoyed seeing the Thursdays again, there are things he needs to do – people he needs to see.

Morse has no illusions about what happened to him Below, or _why_ it did. In fact, his head is remarkably clear – arguable more so than it was before he was taken by the Underside.

And despite everything he went through, he feels happier than he has in ages. He has the freedom of both Above and Below, he can feel it in his bones; actually it feels as if the river’s running through his blood, as if he has become one with the city he has grown to love so much; and the thought of bringing Above and Below together to talks seems exhilarating rather than daunting.

And more than that; when he was gone, his friends tried desperately to find him; and then of course there are others, others he is still determined to see even if it will need some careful balancing on his part –

Then again, he did a lot of that when he was Endeavour, and it usually worked out.

A few streets over, he effortlessly reaches out and opens an impossible door in a wall. A part of him wonders if he has gone insane; but if he has, he doesn’t mind.

He’s at peace now. He’s Morse, and he’s Endeavour, and he’s a mixture of both. It’s how it should be.

**Elsewhere**

It’s a Market Night, he can tell immediately as he steps through the door.

A rat comes scuttling up to him and he leans down to allow her to jump on his hand. “Hello, Mistress Longtails.”

Squeak.

“Yes, I am very well, thank you.”

More squeaks.

“Ah, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Whistling.

“Has he? Oh my.”

A few shrill tones.

“I am going to see her right now.”

She appears satisfied. Then, suddenly, she clambers up his arm to nuzzle his chin before climbing down his neck and disappearing into the dark with a gait that seems like the rat version of embarrassed slinking off.

He laughs then, happily and freely.

He has never felt better.

* * *

 

She is assembling her bags for the Market, when a voice she knows very well interrupts her. “You don’t happen to need help, Old Saxon?”

She looks up and her face breaks into a smile. “Morse!”

She gathers him into a hug and he squeezes her before stepping back. “I thought I’d carry your bags, for old times’ sake.”

“You’re not angry then.” It’s worded like a statement, but clearly a question.

He shakes his head. “You did what you thought was best for both Above and Below. Sacrifices had to be made.”

“I never wanted to sacrifice you” she tells him, gently touching his hand.

“I know. And you didn’t. I think you actually got more of me out of the bargain.” Certainly more than he’d ever have known existed.

“You say that as if it were a bad thing.”

He swallows then, a feeling he can’t describe swelling in his chest. It’s difficult to not only suddenly belonging somewhere, but to two places at once. Then he smiles. “We should be on our way.”

The one he’s looking for is at the Market, as expected. “Hello, Marquis.”

* * *

 

A part of him thought he would never set eyes on Morse again, and another, much bigger part insisted that he’d come looking for him eventually.

Until now, he didn’t know whether he truly wanted to meet him or not.

But at this very moment – and if he could think about it, he would decide that this is a bad development, but he will only think of it later, when it’s already too late – he cannot repress the surge of joy he feels.

In the next moment, he chastises himself for it. He hasn’t survived for so long without being careful and who’s to say Morse is not here to take revenge?

As if reading his thoughts, he shakes his head. “Still the same old scoundrel, I see. Come on, you can buy me a drink.”

“Aren’t you needed Above?” he asks as they stroll down the Market. People are staring at them the way they did in the beginning, when Morse had only just arrived, but unlike then, he barely pays them attention.

“It’s night. Everyone’s asleep.”

Something happened to him when he decided to return Above. He is more in tune with both worlds than ever. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now, where are the mushroom people…” he laughs when he sees his face, but it’s not Endeavour’s slightly manic laugh. Then again, it’s not Morse’s forced one, either. It’s something new entirely. “Alright, I just felt like it. Let’s go get a drink from Smith.”

As it turns out, Smith is only too glad to see them, or rather, Morse. “Endeavour!”

Morse doesn’t even flinch. “Hello. It’s been a while.”

“That it has.” He glances to both sides, then says under his breath, “Say, you don’t happen to know anyone in Ravens Court who might…”

What follows is a rather lengthy tale of love and betrayal and hope, and the Marquis only pays attention because its clear that Morse intends to act on it. Apparently, he is taking this whole “living between Above and Below and trying ton reconcile the two sides” seriously.

 _Of course_ he would. Of course.

Once they have their drinks, they stroll to a quieter part of the Market.

“So you are fine with still calling yourself Endeavour?”

“Endeavour, Morse – it doesn’t matter what I’m called as long as I know who I am.” They fall silent again.

“I remember now” Morse eventually begins. “When I first came here – after I decided to stay. Stumbling through it all, trying to get home.”

And against all odds, he _did_ go home. And yet he is back in Below, as if he’d never left.

No. That’s not true. He’s too – he’s too calm for that. Too much at peace with himself. If that even makes sense.

The Marquis might have grown used to things not making sense, but it’s something else entirely when it comes to people you thought you knew, and this is neither the Morse nor the Endeavour he was… he supposes others would call it _friends_ with.

“What do you want?” he asks eventually.

“Always the same with you, isn’t it. I can’t just come visit now that I’ve remembered who I am?”

That sounds more like Endeavour than Morse, although he will learn not to make the distinction any longer. This is someone new, and yet someone he has known in parts for a very long time. “I would understand if you wanted to kill me, and that is not something I say lightly.”

“I suppose not.” Morse is surveying the Market. “But still – even now that I know, I don’t want to harm you or Peregrine. There’s no point. First of all, no matter what I do, this will still have happened, and second of all, Old Saxon was right. There’s a reason for it all. Can’t you feel it?”

Yes, he can. Deep in his bones. The way one feels things after one has spent a while in Below.

“You really are remarkably calm about it.” Neither Morse nor Endeavour – _stop it_ – was ever very deceptive; you usually knew what you could expect. But this is almost too much for the Marquis.

“Oh, I figured, you know…” Morse shrugs. “I’ve suffered enough. It’s time I acknowledge there are some good things about it, too.” A wry smile. “I don’t think any suspect is ever going to get the better of me in a fight again. I certainly have too much experience for that, now.”

No, he doesn’t think anyone in Above will be a match for Morse. “You always know where to go if you get bored.”

He chuckles. “Indeed. But I wasn’t even talking about that… I meant… well… I have lived a lifer here. Had adventures. Got to know myself, even if I had to lose myself first.” He doesn’t have to explain. Everyone in Below knows what he means. “Found some friends.”

And this is what the Marquis wanted to avoid beyond everything else. He could deal with it if Morse really wanted to take revenge, or give him a piece of his mind; but feeling awkward is not something he cares for.

“Still can’t admit it?” Morse asks.

“Since when do you like to be told the truth bluntly in your face?”

“You may be right about that. A common failure, at least.”

“Nothing about me Is common” the Marquis reminds him.

“Of course not. I would never make the mistake to think so.”

They fall silent again.

After a few moments, the Marquis speak. He didn’t know he was going to, and much later, he will think that the words were almost wrung from him against his will. “I’m glad you came to visit.”

“You’ll get tired of me popping in soon enough” Morse answers, his eyes sparkling. “I have to check out my rooms at Lonsdale now and then, don’t I?”

Really, there is nothing more to say.

**Oxford, the next morning**

When he gets back Above, it’s about four am. He might have returned a little later than he planned to, but it was worth it. He had to reach out to his contacts at Ravens’ court, after all, and he managed to send a note to the Baron. And the Marquis hung around the entire time while claiming that he’d have to leave soon.

Morse smiles to himself as he slips into Sam’s old room. Nothing about this makes sense, but that’s only because everything makes sense.

Or maybe he just has gone mad after all. At least he’s happy with it.

* * *

 

Morse is the first one up after Win. She hears him walking down the stairs. When she last checked on everyone, he was sleeping soundly. Good. She wouldn’t want him to have nightmares after everything he’s been through.

At least he doesn’t seem to be traumatized. No, he actually appears rather happy and content to be back.

“Good morning, Win” he says politely when he enters the kitchen. That’s another thing. Yesterday was the first time that he called her that. She won’t complain. It feels too natural to.

“Morse. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Are you sure I can’t –“

“Sit down, young man.”

He gives her a mischievous grin – not unlike Sam would – and complies.

“How are you?” she asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m fine. I promise.” He pauses, then adds, “Or maybe that’s the wrong thing to say. What I mean is… I think I’m more myself now than I was when I fell Below.”

It’s not really the most logical of explanations, but he does seem fine, and that’s more than they could ever hope for when Fred was ready to move heaven and earth to get him back.

“We’re all very glad” she says quietly.

“Thank you. I’m happy to be back, too.”

And yet he looks a little guilty as he says it, but it might just be her imagination.

* * *

Despite having brought him here himself, Fred still feels relieved when he comes into the kitchen to find Morse drinking tea and chatting with Win. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Morse.” He never thought he’d say those words again. “How are you?”

“Never felt better, sir”. He looks at the window. “It’s a beautiful day.”

He squeezes his shoulder on the way to get his own cuppa.

It really _is_ a good day.

* * *

 

When they learn a body has been found, no one comments on it when Morse grabs the keys to drive Fred there. If one thing is certain, it’s that he’ll never be relegated to basic policework again. Superintendent Bright is already trying his best to get him made a Sergeant, finally.

“It’s an address on Gaiman street” Thursday says as he gets in the car. “That’s –“

“Don’t worry, sir, I _know_ Oxford” Morse tells him, smiling slightly.

He supposes that’s true.

**Later that day**

His flat is as he left it – four weeks and yet a decade ago. Naturally there’s dust everywhere – it might have temporarily winked out of existence, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t get dirty in the meantime.

Morse puts on a record. For a second, he wonders if he should go with Puccini, try to overcome his hang-up, but then decides that’s a battle for another day. And there will be many more days.

He smiles when he remembers the Thursdays’ reluctance to let him go. Maybe another time, he will stay, but he had a feeling about tonight. Something’s in the air. He’s promised to come to dinner for the next few days, and he more than suspects he’ll stay the night again at least once, but he doesn’t mind. Life’s too short to constantly feel embarrassed by the affection others bestow on you.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back and remembers countless nights like this in Below, when he was trying to hold onto who he was and hadn’t yet realized that who he was becoming was also part of Endeavour Morse, just not the whole.

He feels the change in the atmosphere and says, without opening his eyes, “Would you like a drink before we go?”

“I am disappointed. And here I thought –“

Without opening his eyes, he drags out the knife he hid behind the cushion earlier and throws it at where the Marquis is standing.

When he does open his eyes, he’s holding it in his right hand and grinning brightly. “Careful after all.”

“You know me.” Then again, perhaps he doesn’t. Somehow, Morse has the feeling that he doesn’t know _himself_ completely, yet. “What is it?”

“Can’t I just come to visit?” he mimics him.

“You can but you didn’t. Not this time.”

“There’s something wrong with the ship –“

“The one that wasn’t there a few weeks ago and yet has been around forever?”

“Exactly that.”

Morse smiles. “Better fix it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's excited for the last chapter tomorrow?


	27. Chapter 27

**Oxford – two weeks later**

No, Fred decides on a sunny Thursday afternoon, he isn’t being paranoid. The lad _has_ changed. The constable who just left his office held himself different than the one who got lost in Below; more upright, and more confidently.

Then again, that’s not a bad thing, is it? He’s wanted this for a while.

But if it should be the effect of Below –

Still, he _is_ Morse. Everyone says so. Although he seems to be – well, even _more_ Morse than he was before. Completely comfortable in his skin. He doesn’t try to wiggle out of Win’s invitations to dinner or the spare bed anymore, and he and Joan seem to get on better and better. He joins Jakes and Strange in the pub more often than he used to as well, although no one can deny the fact that he’s drinking considerably less than he used to.

Even Superintendent Bright mentioned that he… it seems a rather weird thing to say, but somehow, Morse seems just _happier_ than he used to be. Not that Fred has anything against that; it just feels odd to him, considering what Morse went through.

He half-expected all of them to forget about Below again now that they have no reason to remember, but the opposite is true. The whole station still knows that there is another world beneath their own, and have found was to cope with that knowledge.

Thankfully, they haven’t had a reason to venture there again.

At least so Fred thinks until he goes to the squad room to inquire whether Morse is back from his lunchbreak yet and finds him bundling Seamus Hardy in a chair. “You can’t do this!”

“On the contrary, Mr. Hardy; there is a warrant for your arrest –“

“You can’t, you –“ He blinks, then starts. “You took me back through one of the Old Ways!” he finally wails.

“Indeed. Now –“

“Morse?” It comes out a little more harshly than Fred intended. The lad looks up, blushes, then clears his throat. “I was visiting a friend, sir, and I happened across –“

“Visiting a friend _where_?”

The whole room has gone quiet. Even Hary has stopped his whining.

Morse hesitates for a moment, then draws himself up. “In Below, sir.”

“In Below.” The words fall flat between them. “That wouldn’t happen to be the Marquis the Carabas, would it?”

“I saw Old Saxon too.” Fred expects a denial, but instead Morse continues, “He’s really not a bad man.”

“ _If_ he is a man” Thursday mutters and Morse’s lips twitch.

“Close enough to one, even if he dwells in Below, sir. Anyway, I happened across Mr. Hardy here and thought I’d bring him in.”

“And you can’t do this! I didn’t exist up here then!”

“But you do now, Mr. Hardy, so…” he turns to look at Fred again. “Unless you want me to send him back?“

He only understand it’s a threat when Hardy starts wailing again. “You can’t! Everyone daw that you were dragging me away, they will think that I – that I –“ he stops talking abruptly.

Endeavour really must have been a legend below. He probably still is.

“Book him” is all he says, and Morse nods and leads the culprit to a cell.

Still, Fred knows they will have to talk about it. Despite Old Saxon’s belief that Morse could bring balance between Above and Below, he didn’t know he’d set foot in the Underside again.

What matters more to him is that Morse didn’t tell, him.

And so, he drags him off for a quite chat in the pub soon afterwards, Superintendent Bright having given his approval.

“What did you want to talk about, sir?” Morse asks as soon as they are sitting down. Thankfully, he asked for orange juice.

He’s more direct, these days. Always grabbing then bull by its horns. Then again, he sort of always did that.

“You are still going to Below.”

“It’s like Old Saxon said. I belong to both worlds, now.” A smile. “Or maybe I never belonged to either.”

“That’s not true” he says firmly.

Another smile is all the answer he gets. “And the Marquis?” he tries.

“He’s a friend.”

“He did… He did _that_ to you.”

“Yes. But it was for the good of Below. His home. He has his soft spots, although he’d never admit it. I’m not so sure about Peregrine; there’s every chance he just enjoyed the chaos while it lasted. But still – “

After a pause, Thursday answers quietly, “You’ve changed, Morse.”

“It was to be expected. After ten years away…” He takes a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I am really glad to be back and to have remembered who I used to be, sir.”

“And who are you now?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it. I’ll let you know when I figure out the answer.”

He’s not being wilfully obtuse, Thursday feels; no, he means what he says. He nods.

“They call me the Guardian now” he says suddenly. “Below.”

“The Guardian?”

“I have been given to understand that the rats came up with it. I assume it’s a sort of title.”

The Guardian. It fits him.

“You know, when I firs went back to below after returning Above, the Marquis was genuinely surprised to see me.” Morse changes the subject abruptly. “And he wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to take revenge. And yet he didn’t run” Morse says conversationally, taking a sip of his juice. “I expected him to. No idea why he stayed to hear me out.”

 _Because,_ Thursday thinks, _he was just glad to see you again, to have you back. Because that’s how it is – you get under one’s skin, and one doesn’t notice until you’re gone, and by then it is too late. He didn’t mean you to, he didn’t_ want _you to, but you did it anyway, and now he can’t imagine life without you. I should know, I’ve been there._

What he says is, “I have always found him enigmatic.”

“That’s very generous of you, sir.” Morse tilts his head to the side, then smiles. “He still owes me a big favour for dealing with the shepherds the other day. I like to dangle it over his head every once in a while; threaten to make him do something nice.”

Fred laughs. It’s enough.

* * *

 

A few days, a decomposing body is found in a church tower.  Fred has an appointment at court, so he arrives somewhat later than the others.

When he does, Doctor DeBryn is leaning over the body and Fred is about to inquire after Morse when he suddenly climbs in through the window. “This would explain why the dust doesn’t seem to be disturbed –“

“And what if, Constable” DeBryn interrupts him with, “we assume the killer didn’t have the abilities of a happy-go-lucky squirrel on a good day?”

Morse looks at him, then laughs. “You’re right, Max, of course. My mistake.”

* * *

 

They are checking out a lead when she becomes aware that Morse stopped walking alongside her. She turns around and finds him talking to –

She blinks, the woman going in and out of her focus.

Morse notices, naturally. “Breathe, Shirley. This is natural. Those of Oxford Below belong to our city as much as those from Above. Just let it happen.”

She does, then takes a deep breath. “Good day, Miss. Do you need help?”

She seems startled, but Morse just says, “A colleague.”

She nods, as if this is enough explanation for her, and perhaps it is. As far as Shirley understands, Morse has made quite a name for himself Below.

* * *

 

Max decided quite early, as soon as he remembered Morse in fact, that he better get used to strange things happening, because if he knows one thing about Morse, is that’s he’ll always beat the odds.

And so, he barely flinches when a door opens in one of the walls of the morgue.

Morse scampers out. “Max, terribly sorry to bother you, but you don’t happen to have some antiseptic and bandages I could borrow?”

He goes to fetch them, then a thought strikes him. “You wouldn’t happen to also need a doctor, would you? As long as we return soon.”

“I could probably bring you back five minutes ago, if I tried” Morse replies seriously. “Are you sure, though?”

“I highly expect this will be rather dangerous and more difficult than you’ve let on” he says dryly, grabbing his bag, “But at least I can assure DI Thursday that you didn’t get lost between the worlds again.”

“Isn’t that something. Wait…” Morse makes sure the door reaches the floor so he doesn’t have to climb up. “I should probably warn you, the patient likes to bite people who annoy them.”

* * *

 

“DC Endeavour Morse…” his colleague listens to what the voice on the other end has to say, but it proves to be another worthless clue. He goes back to typing his report, and Strange wonders if it’s just him or if he does indeed type faster than he used to.

A sound at the window makes them both look up. It’s a pigeon. “Feathertails in this part of the city?” Morse mumbles, more or less to himself, as he hurries to open the window and get the note that turns out to be tied around the pigeon’s leg. “Jim, would you mind terribly if you gave him the rest of your sandwich?”

He doesn’t. “What is it, matey? Not bad news, I hope.”

Morse is reading the note, then sighs with relief. “The Serpent Queen has accepted the Armistice.”

Silence reigns for a moment. Then Strange decides to reply. “You know, I think I’ll have to hear more about this.”

“It’s a rather long story.”

“Buy you a pint tonight?”

Morse nods happily.

* * *

 

Fred gets used to Morse now and then disappearing Below for short stretches or using the doors he can open as a short cut. He’s also starting to try and educate others about Below, as far as he can; it still tends to slip people’s minds if one doesn’t remind them of it, but he’s cheerful enough about his prospects. “We just have to get it through to enough people, that’s all”.

“Sounds like a long-term project” Thursday says carefully.

Morse shrugs. “Oh, I can pass on the torch eventually. Hopefully not for a long time.”

One day, he even brings the Marquis to the station. They’ve apparently apprehended someone Below, and because Morse is trying to change things down there as well, they need a pair of handcuffs.

“Here” Thursday says, passing him one and squeezing his shoulder, “And take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Fred” the Marquis says, “he’s got me.”

Their eyes meet. At this very moment, only the two of them know how much truth there lies in the Marquis’ worst.

It’s like Fred wanted to say that day in the pub. Morse gets under one’s skin, and once he’s there, it’s bloody difficult to get rid of him, even if one should want that.

Morse and the Marquis leave. His bagman returns half an hour later, looking as good as he usually does, these days.

* * *

 

Then there comes the evening when he arrives home and finds Win conversing with a vampire on their threshold. Apparently, she met the one who used to drop by after the raids and ask how she was on the streets and recognizes him, so she invited him home for a chat.

“He really _is_ a nice man” she says as she prepares dinner, “And you should have been how happy he was when he realized I could see him.”

“Vampires” Joan, who has slowly learned about Below in the past few weeks, shakes her head. “And I thought the war must have been exciting enough without any magical city beneath our feet.”

Yes, things are changing in more ways than one. Fred has every reason to think that life is going to become rather more magical and crazier than he ever imagined it to be, even in those moments when he recalled Below, back when he was still forgetting about it.

He’s surprisingly fine with it.

* * *

 

Granted, sometimes he still worries. Sometimes he thinks that it could very well happen again, that Morse could be taken once more while he’s dealing with things in Below, but then a wall will open and he’ll jump out, as happy and safe and sane as he’s ever going to be, and everything will be fine.

This new life of his doesn’t really make all that much sense, but Morse seems to be content, and after everything he’s been through, he deserves it. After all, he grew into someone knew in Below, over ten long years.

* * *

 

She doesn’t quite know one to expect. Somehow, one never does, with Morse.

“Miss Frazil. May I buy you a drink?”

She nods. There is something different about him lately, she thinks as he walks to the bar. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, just not what she’s used to.

“So, what can I do for you, Constable?” she asks.

“I think it’s more what I can do for you.” His eyes practically sparkling tonight.

“You think so?”

“Oh yes. I am rather sure I have a good story for you.”

“And what would that entail?”

“How about a magical city below this one?”

* * *

 

After another dinner invitation, Joan is leading Morse to the door. Win practically insisted on it, and Fred’s not blind, either; they are in fact cleaning the dishes, doing their best not to eavesdrop.

A few pieces of their conversation still make their way to them.

“Dad is right. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Not nearly as much as you think. Below has a way of looking after itself. Mostly it’s getting to acknowledge people from Above that it exists.”

“You are going to use help Above as well as Below, then.”

“Yes” he says simply.

Then they fall silent, and Win throws him a knowing glance. Fred glances down to hide his smile.

* * *

 

One day, he, Moose and Jakes are just returning from a routine inquiry when his bagman stops and stares. “I can’t – she never comes here!”

He rushes towards a corner, and when Thursday forces himself to focus on it, he realizes he’s hugging Old Saxon. He’s grown used to seeing the people of Below wander through Oxford Above by now. They are usually surprised when they realize he can see them. Still, Old Saxon in Above is a sight to behold. It’s a small wonder Morse was stunned. Even with everything he’s seen and heard, she still doesn’t seem real, like a statue to a world long gone suddenly coming to life.

They are conversing fast. Whatever it is that prompted her to go Above for the first time in centuries, it must be important. and indeed, within a minute Morse is back at their side, Old Saxon apparently waiting for him.

“The Marquis de Carabas has vanished” he reports, looking genuinely worried. “Apparently no one has heard from him in days, and then things got so bad that Peregrine went after him.”

“Let me guess, and he vanished too?” Thursday asks.

Morse nods. “I am sorry sir, but I do have to help. He might be annoying” he continues with a short smile. “But he’s done quite as much for Below as I have.” He states it matter-of-factly. “We need him back. I should return in a few minutes, if all goes well.”

And then he hurries back to Old Saxon as Thursday and jakes share a glance.

A few moments pass.

In that few moments, they think of many things.

Thursday remembers how intrigued he was when he was little more than a boy and heard of below; how he then came to fear it; how, for the few weeks and years that Morse was gone, downright despite its existence, its magic, its strangeness; and how it now seems that they are on the cusp of a new era, with his bagman there to help make peace between the world he knows so well and the Underside.

Jakes, meanwhile, thinks of a group of desperate boys who tried to make the bad things happening to them go away by inventing stories about what they would do if they could go to the magical place that some people said was right underneath their feet, and how sometimes, those stories had made the nightmares go away.

They look at one another then.

A few seconds later, two voices ring out across the road.

“Endeavour!”

“Morse, wait!”

He turns around then as they walk up to him. “Yes? Is there anything you need me to –“

“Need any help`?” Thursday asks. “You still have the freedom of the Underside, don’t you? So you can lead us?”

Morse blinks. “Yes, but –“

“No buts” Jakes interrupts him. “Endeavour owed me a favour, you know?”

The look Morse bestows on him can only be called mischievous. “And you would waste a favour of The Guardian for this, Peter? You could just ask.”

“Take us with you, then?” he asks with a smile.

Morse glances from one of them to the other, then nods. He turns to Old Saxon. “Don’t worry, we’ll be coming presently.”

She kisses his cheek and all but vanishes. “Probably didn’t feel comfortable here” he says matter-of-factly. “We need to find a quiet street. If this takes longer than expected, we can stay in my rooms at Lonsdale.”

“But won’t time pass here then –“ Jakes begins, then thinks better of it and stops talking. Some things are just beyond any explanation, he’s learned that.

Morse gives him an enigmatic smile and leads them on.

They soon find an empty street. Morse reaches out and pushed the wall, creating the door.

“Lay on, Macduff” Jakes says, and it makes him laugh, the bright, clear laughter of a man who has found his place in the world and is at peace with it.

They then step through the door without another word, and a moment later, nothing remains.

Not even a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my friends, it has been quite a journey, hasn't it? Before letting you go, I just wanted to say a few things.   
> 1\. Yes, there are both hints at Joan/Morse and Morse/Jakes at the end. I am just a simple fangirl.   
> 2\. This story was so much fun to write.   
> 3\. Thank you to anyone who commented, bookmarked, gave kudos or just read this story all the way through. You rock!  
> 4\. I really hope you have a wonderful day.


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